Fic: An Unconventional Partnership, Ch.3. POI/WC Crossover
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 - Chapter 2
Chapter Summary: In which Finch reveals his favourite colour, Reese asks to sleep in Finch's bed, Peter wants to take Neal camping, and they sleep. Summary is, as always, crack.
"A message?" Peter repeated with increasing alarm, "What does it say?"
The younger man hesitated for a moment. "No, it's not like that. It's a taunt."
Peter tucked the gun away warily, all the while studying Neal's the face. "How serious is the taunt?"
Neal shrugged. Reese contemplated about supplying with the information that it probably meant their lives were in danger, but thought better of it.
"And you," turning his attention back to the stranger, Peter took one step towards Reese and appeared as FBI-like as he went, "I think you've got some explaining to do."
"Be careful what you say, Mr. Reese. That last thing we want is a federal agent asking questions." It sounded like Finch was clearing up the dishes and turning on the tap, which Reese found oddly endearing.
"I have nothing to say," said Reese, keeping his tone light.
Peter eyed him warily. "Who are you?"
That, Reese had an standard answer for. "A concerned third party."
"We should really print that on a business card," said Finch in his ear. Reese grinned.
For a moment, the FBI agent looked bewildered. "Are you - are you wearing an earpiece? Who's on the other end?"
"I don't think they are in any more danger, not any time soon, Mr. Reese," Finch reminded him.
Reese nodded curtly once. "That'll be all for the time being. Do watch out for your backs, gentlemen, I don't think we have seen the end of it yet."
Before either men could say anything, Reese waved and slid away into the darkness.
*
"Wow, Peter. Does this happen often on your boy's nights in?"
Peter gave Neal a dirty look at his attempt at lighthearted humour. "Is there a guardian angel you neglected to tell me about, Neal?"
"Why would I need another one?" Neal flashed a smile.
Peter huffed a sigh. "If I were to take an educated guess, I'd say he was trained by the military. Question is, why did he show up tonight? What was his purpose?"
The younger man did not reply, looking every bit as occupied by his own thoughts. Peter regarded him for a moment longer, and placed a hand on his shoulders.
"I think it's best if we stayed close over the next couple of days." His worried gaze turned to the darkness, and his brows furrowed further. "Things are becoming increasingly strange as of late...."
*
It took Reese thirty minutes to get back to Finch's safehouse, having gotten into a cab, drove around the block, doubled back and made sure that no one was following him. By the time he got inside, Finch had already cleared away the table.
"Aww, I missed dessert."
The billionaire gave him a sideway glance. "Actually, I have some ice cream in the fridge."
Reese grinned. "You spoil me."
They sat down on the sofa together, watching the monitor as a normal couple would watch the TV, though the image quality was ten times worse. Inside the Burke house, the FBI agent was telling his CI to take a shower. The younger man quickly declined, telling the agent to go first. The agent shrugged, grabbed a towel and went into the bathroom.
Five seconds later, Reese's phone rang. Neal Caffery was making a phone call.
Reese exchanged a meaningful glance with Finch, and listened in.
"Mozzie." The younger man's voice was breathless and a little hurried, betraying far more worry than he showed just minutes ago. "They found where Peter lives. They left a message for me, and it's not good."
"I think our friend do know what the message mean, then," said Reese quietly.
The voice on the other end of the line didn't hesitate for one moment. "What is it they want? You haven't got that lionhead anymore."
"No, it's not a message to claim something back. It's a message for a debt owed."
Finch and Reese exchanged glances again. Needless to say, it was not a good sign if you owed the Irish mob anything.
"Oh. Payment in expertise." The man whom Neal referred to as Mozzie on the other end of the line didn't seem to have trouble comprehending, though he did sound worried. "Any idea what they want you for?"
"Some," Neal glanced around, making sure that the shower was still on, and whispered urgently. "There's a travelling display from Ireland in the New York Museum of Art. I've been getting the goosebumps since they got here. I think they want me to steal something for them, while the collection is on foreign land, so the crimes can't be traced back to them easily."
There was a audible intake of breath on the other end. "I can't imagine what the Suit will say to that, Neal."
"That's why we can't get him involved at the moment." Neal sounded agitated again. "Knowing these guys, they will try to contact me again with times and details. Let's hope that we can get what they want, the way we usually do, and be done with it."
"We have a problem, Mr. Reese..." Finch said slowly, ominously. And Reese knew what he meant. "The Machine would not have picked out their Numbers if the mobsters were just planning to use them. They are going to kill them."
*
Peter stepped out of the shower, peeked at the living room, and saw the younger man working away at the computer.
"Are you sure you want to take the sofa?"
Neal sounded distracted. "Uh, yeah, yeah I'm sure. Don't worry, go ahead and sleep. I'll be up for a bit longer."
"Don't think you are going to research anything, or plan anything without me, Neal," said Peter with a touch of warning in his voice. His face stern, he came over and pulled the younger man off the sofa. "Go take a shower. I'll be here when you get back."
The younger man opened his mouth to argue, saw the look on the agent's face, and recognised defeat. As soon as Neal left the room, Peter began tapping fervently on the computer himself.
"What...an interesting... dynamic... indeed," said Finch, watching everything that the two men entered and searched for on the computer. It was clear that Peter was trying to find out whatever Neal was trying to hide from him. "It's almost like they are playing a game of cat and mouse."
"I know that feeling sometimes," said Reese, watching the monitor intently. "I think Agent Burke knows more about his friend than he lets on."
"Hmmm." Finch gave him a meaningful glance.
"I still haven't figured out your favourite colour yet," said Reese, unprompted, smirking.
Finch regarded him warily for a moment. "It's a combination of white and black," he said finally.
Reese blinked, tore his gaze away from the monitor, and seemed for a moment bewildered, then mildly surprised. Finch's ear tips burned red again.
Reese looked down at his attire - white shirt in a black suit, as per usual - thoughtfully for a brief moment, and looked up again. In this short timeframe, Finch somehow managed to limp to the fridge, and with his back to him, called out:
"Ice cream?"
Slowly, Reese returned his gaze to the monitor, his face betraying nothing. "Alright. What flavours have you got?"
"Finest vanilla from Madagascar," said Finch, handing him a tub.
"Isn't this cozy."
Finch seemed to have recollected himself, found his usual calm, and sat down next to him again. "Did either of them find out anything?"
"No, our friend Caffery is clever enough to google more noir film titles than to look up the museum's website."
"All the more suspicious, I should think," said Finch softly. "Agent Burke is not a man easily fooled."
In the surveillance footage, Peter Burke raised his head and stared towards the direction of the bathroom, a worried frown evident on his face.
"I'll tail Caffery tomorrow." Reese said, "Although, on the off chance that he recognises and catches me, I might need you for a bit of fieldwork."
"I'm always up for a challenge, Mr. Reese."
Reese offered him a soft smile. "Go to bed, Finch. I'll keep watch for the night."
Finch glanced around uncomfortably. "I'm sorry there's only one bed, I should really order another, on the off chance that something like this happens."
Reese wanted to point out that he had an obscenely large bed, but decided to refrain. "Go sleep. I'll be here."
Finch watched him for a few moment longer, then stood up. "Let me know if anything happens."
"The most likely thing to happen, this time of the night, is also quite unlikely to happen," Reese replied, somewhat absent-mindedly. "Though I could be wrong."
Finch stopped in his tracks. "What are you talking about, Mr. Reese?"
Reese grinned devilishly at the monitor. "The agent could ask his friend to bed. Then the show'd get interesting."
Finch half rolled his eyes and turned away. "I really wish you wouldn't watch that, if that did happen."
"A sense of propriety, Finch?"
"A sense of dignity, Mr. Reese."
Reese heard Finch open drawers, closets, shaking out towels and pyjamas, the sound of him getting ready to retire for the evening was so domestic, so mundane, that the next sentence slipped out of him before he knew what he was doing.
"Would you ever invite me to bed, Finch?" The words were mischievous, just a touch lighthearted, perhaps out of habit.
Out the corner of his eye, he saw the other man freeze.
“If you you want the bed that much, Mr. Reese,” when the reply finally came it was calculated, "I'm sure I can spend the night on the sofa."
Something inside Reese's chest hollowed, though his face betrayed nothing of it. "Such a spoilsport, Finch."
There was a quiet sigh behind his back, and a stack of towels and clean clothes appeared on his shoulder. "I'm prone to toss and turns, Mr. Reese, and I am a light sleeper. But..." Reese turned around to see Finch staring at him with an odd intensity, "If you can get no rest on the sofa, it is a really large bed."
A long moment stretched out as they stared at each other, each unsure of the other's reaction, then Reese smiled a slow smile. "Thanks, Finch."
*
"I want you to take the bed," said Peter suddenly, when Neal reentered the room. "I'll keep watch for the night, just in case these men come back."
For a moment Neal looked flustered. "N-No, Peter, that's OK. I'm used to staying up until the wee hours of the morning, so I can keep watch."
"Don't argue with me." Peter sounded a bit annoyed, but not at the other man. "You'll need some rest to be on your best performance."
"Why would I need to be on my best performance?" Neal's eyes narrowed imperceptibly.
"Because there is a group of mobsters looking for you, taunting you," Peter said in a slow, slightly condescending voice, "Now if you ask me, I think there is a good chance that you might need to do some running or conning over the next few days to get out of your... predicament."
"You are not adverse to the idea of me conning out of my predicament?" Neal arched a brow a little playfully. "My my Peter. You have been corrupted."
"I tend to turn a blind eye when you use your skills for the greater good," said Peter sarcastically. "Now off to bed."
Neal didn't budge. He kept his brow raised, stared at the agent defiantly, and crossed his legs on the sofa.
"Oh, fine." Peter let out a long suffering sigh. "It's probably best if we both slept in the living room tonight."
Neal contemplated this for a moment, then conceded. "I guess I'll take the floor."
"No..." Peter rubbed his neck, then stood up. "We'll both take the floor. It'll give us an advantage if they return during the night. Help me move the coffee table, Neal."
"Ooh." The younger man's eyes lit up. "Camping in the living room."
They pushed the coffee table aside, rolled out blankets, puffed the pillows and settled down onto the floor. The agent checked his gun, put it aside his pillow, and caught the younger man quickly hiding something under his as well:
"What was that?"
"Oh, just some tools I keep by to ensure my own safety," said Neal breezily.
Peter eyed him suspiciously for a few moments, then decided to let go. He got up to turn off the light, grabbed a torch and padded back to lie down next to Neal. With the curtains tightly drawn, the room fell into a thick darkness, the night silent except for Neal's even breathing.
"Have you ever been camping, Neal?" Peter asked softly, after a few moments.
"Not on purpose, no," said Neal. "My area of expertise don't really extend to dealing with animals, wildlife, or flora and fauna."
Peter chuckled. "I should really take you some time. Setting up a tent in the woods, going for a bit of fishing...let's see how you can con the fishes into dinner..."
"Aw Peter." Neal let out a soft laugh, "I'm sure I can trust you to do the hard work while we are there."
"Oh yeah?" The older man shuffled on his pillow and turned to look at his companion, "I could teach you."
"We could do that," Neal agreed amiably. "Or I could con you into doing all the hard work."
Peter huffed a laugh and Neal could almost feel it on his cheek. He smiled to himself.
"Do you think this will ever be over?" Neal asked softly, after a few moments.
"Our partnership?" Peter sounded surprised.
"No! No." Neal said quickly, clearing his throat. "I mean the trouble. From my past."
Peter shook his head, and patted the other man in the dark. "Even if it doesn't, a little trouble can be exciting every now and again." He contemplated for a moment. "I am surprised, though... If you have had any more 'alleged' run-ins with the Mafia, rogue agents from the KGB, or anything of the sort, now's the time to let me know." Peter's voice was ambiguous, a touch serious but not without humour. "Always better safe than sorry."
Neal laughed silently. Next to him, Peter stifled a yawn.
"You are not a blanket hogger, are you?" said the agent, pulling a little closer. "It can get cold in the early morning, and I really prefer if I didn't catch a cold from you. You have been sneezing a lot lately."
"Nah. I was beginning to think may be I'm just allergic to Jone's new cologne."
"Jones wear cologne?"
"Oh, Peter."
The agent chuckled. "Good night, Neal."
TBC
A/N: The New York Museum of Art is fictional, of course, among other things. Also I don't remember if Burke house had a guest room, but let's pretend that they don't (or don't want to use it). A bit of domesticity before things get interesting (I hope).
Reviews are like warm fluffy bears, I'll hug you for it <3
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 Summary: In which Finch reveals his favourite colour, Reese asks to sleep in Finch's bed, Peter wants to take Neal camping, and they sleep. Summary is, as always, crack.
"A message?" Peter repeated with increasing alarm, "What does it say?"
The younger man hesitated for a moment. "No, it's not like that. It's a taunt."
Peter tucked the gun away warily, all the while studying Neal's the face. "How serious is the taunt?"
Neal shrugged. Reese contemplated about supplying with the information that it probably meant their lives were in danger, but thought better of it.
"And you," turning his attention back to the stranger, Peter took one step towards Reese and appeared as FBI-like as he went, "I think you've got some explaining to do."
"Be careful what you say, Mr. Reese. That last thing we want is a federal agent asking questions." It sounded like Finch was clearing up the dishes and turning on the tap, which Reese found oddly endearing.
"I have nothing to say," said Reese, keeping his tone light.
Peter eyed him warily. "Who are you?"
That, Reese had an standard answer for. "A concerned third party."
"We should really print that on a business card," said Finch in his ear. Reese grinned.
For a moment, the FBI agent looked bewildered. "Are you - are you wearing an earpiece? Who's on the other end?"
"I don't think they are in any more danger, not any time soon, Mr. Reese," Finch reminded him.
Reese nodded curtly once. "That'll be all for the time being. Do watch out for your backs, gentlemen, I don't think we have seen the end of it yet."
Before either men could say anything, Reese waved and slid away into the darkness.
*
"Wow, Peter. Does this happen often on your boy's nights in?"
Peter gave Neal a dirty look at his attempt at lighthearted humour. "Is there a guardian angel you neglected to tell me about, Neal?"
"Why would I need another one?" Neal flashed a smile.
Peter huffed a sigh. "If I were to take an educated guess, I'd say he was trained by the military. Question is, why did he show up tonight? What was his purpose?"
The younger man did not reply, looking every bit as occupied by his own thoughts. Peter regarded him for a moment longer, and placed a hand on his shoulders.
"I think it's best if we stayed close over the next couple of days." His worried gaze turned to the darkness, and his brows furrowed further. "Things are becoming increasingly strange as of late...."
*
It took Reese thirty minutes to get back to Finch's safehouse, having gotten into a cab, drove around the block, doubled back and made sure that no one was following him. By the time he got inside, Finch had already cleared away the table.
"Aww, I missed dessert."
The billionaire gave him a sideway glance. "Actually, I have some ice cream in the fridge."
Reese grinned. "You spoil me."
They sat down on the sofa together, watching the monitor as a normal couple would watch the TV, though the image quality was ten times worse. Inside the Burke house, the FBI agent was telling his CI to take a shower. The younger man quickly declined, telling the agent to go first. The agent shrugged, grabbed a towel and went into the bathroom.
Five seconds later, Reese's phone rang. Neal Caffery was making a phone call.
Reese exchanged a meaningful glance with Finch, and listened in.
"Mozzie." The younger man's voice was breathless and a little hurried, betraying far more worry than he showed just minutes ago. "They found where Peter lives. They left a message for me, and it's not good."
"I think our friend do know what the message mean, then," said Reese quietly.
The voice on the other end of the line didn't hesitate for one moment. "What is it they want? You haven't got that lionhead anymore."
"No, it's not a message to claim something back. It's a message for a debt owed."
Finch and Reese exchanged glances again. Needless to say, it was not a good sign if you owed the Irish mob anything.
"Oh. Payment in expertise." The man whom Neal referred to as Mozzie on the other end of the line didn't seem to have trouble comprehending, though he did sound worried. "Any idea what they want you for?"
"Some," Neal glanced around, making sure that the shower was still on, and whispered urgently. "There's a travelling display from Ireland in the New York Museum of Art. I've been getting the goosebumps since they got here. I think they want me to steal something for them, while the collection is on foreign land, so the crimes can't be traced back to them easily."
There was a audible intake of breath on the other end. "I can't imagine what the Suit will say to that, Neal."
"That's why we can't get him involved at the moment." Neal sounded agitated again. "Knowing these guys, they will try to contact me again with times and details. Let's hope that we can get what they want, the way we usually do, and be done with it."
"We have a problem, Mr. Reese..." Finch said slowly, ominously. And Reese knew what he meant. "The Machine would not have picked out their Numbers if the mobsters were just planning to use them. They are going to kill them."
*
Peter stepped out of the shower, peeked at the living room, and saw the younger man working away at the computer.
"Are you sure you want to take the sofa?"
Neal sounded distracted. "Uh, yeah, yeah I'm sure. Don't worry, go ahead and sleep. I'll be up for a bit longer."
"Don't think you are going to research anything, or plan anything without me, Neal," said Peter with a touch of warning in his voice. His face stern, he came over and pulled the younger man off the sofa. "Go take a shower. I'll be here when you get back."
The younger man opened his mouth to argue, saw the look on the agent's face, and recognised defeat. As soon as Neal left the room, Peter began tapping fervently on the computer himself.
"What...an interesting... dynamic... indeed," said Finch, watching everything that the two men entered and searched for on the computer. It was clear that Peter was trying to find out whatever Neal was trying to hide from him. "It's almost like they are playing a game of cat and mouse."
"I know that feeling sometimes," said Reese, watching the monitor intently. "I think Agent Burke knows more about his friend than he lets on."
"Hmmm." Finch gave him a meaningful glance.
"I still haven't figured out your favourite colour yet," said Reese, unprompted, smirking.
Finch regarded him warily for a moment. "It's a combination of white and black," he said finally.
Reese blinked, tore his gaze away from the monitor, and seemed for a moment bewildered, then mildly surprised. Finch's ear tips burned red again.
Reese looked down at his attire - white shirt in a black suit, as per usual - thoughtfully for a brief moment, and looked up again. In this short timeframe, Finch somehow managed to limp to the fridge, and with his back to him, called out:
"Ice cream?"
Slowly, Reese returned his gaze to the monitor, his face betraying nothing. "Alright. What flavours have you got?"
"Finest vanilla from Madagascar," said Finch, handing him a tub.
"Isn't this cozy."
Finch seemed to have recollected himself, found his usual calm, and sat down next to him again. "Did either of them find out anything?"
"No, our friend Caffery is clever enough to google more noir film titles than to look up the museum's website."
"All the more suspicious, I should think," said Finch softly. "Agent Burke is not a man easily fooled."
In the surveillance footage, Peter Burke raised his head and stared towards the direction of the bathroom, a worried frown evident on his face.
"I'll tail Caffery tomorrow." Reese said, "Although, on the off chance that he recognises and catches me, I might need you for a bit of fieldwork."
"I'm always up for a challenge, Mr. Reese."
Reese offered him a soft smile. "Go to bed, Finch. I'll keep watch for the night."
Finch glanced around uncomfortably. "I'm sorry there's only one bed, I should really order another, on the off chance that something like this happens."
Reese wanted to point out that he had an obscenely large bed, but decided to refrain. "Go sleep. I'll be here."
Finch watched him for a few moment longer, then stood up. "Let me know if anything happens."
"The most likely thing to happen, this time of the night, is also quite unlikely to happen," Reese replied, somewhat absent-mindedly. "Though I could be wrong."
Finch stopped in his tracks. "What are you talking about, Mr. Reese?"
Reese grinned devilishly at the monitor. "The agent could ask his friend to bed. Then the show'd get interesting."
Finch half rolled his eyes and turned away. "I really wish you wouldn't watch that, if that did happen."
"A sense of propriety, Finch?"
"A sense of dignity, Mr. Reese."
Reese heard Finch open drawers, closets, shaking out towels and pyjamas, the sound of him getting ready to retire for the evening was so domestic, so mundane, that the next sentence slipped out of him before he knew what he was doing.
"Would you ever invite me to bed, Finch?" The words were mischievous, just a touch lighthearted, perhaps out of habit.
Out the corner of his eye, he saw the other man freeze.
“If you you want the bed that much, Mr. Reese,” when the reply finally came it was calculated, "I'm sure I can spend the night on the sofa."
Something inside Reese's chest hollowed, though his face betrayed nothing of it. "Such a spoilsport, Finch."
There was a quiet sigh behind his back, and a stack of towels and clean clothes appeared on his shoulder. "I'm prone to toss and turns, Mr. Reese, and I am a light sleeper. But..." Reese turned around to see Finch staring at him with an odd intensity, "If you can get no rest on the sofa, it is a really large bed."
A long moment stretched out as they stared at each other, each unsure of the other's reaction, then Reese smiled a slow smile. "Thanks, Finch."
*
"I want you to take the bed," said Peter suddenly, when Neal reentered the room. "I'll keep watch for the night, just in case these men come back."
For a moment Neal looked flustered. "N-No, Peter, that's OK. I'm used to staying up until the wee hours of the morning, so I can keep watch."
"Don't argue with me." Peter sounded a bit annoyed, but not at the other man. "You'll need some rest to be on your best performance."
"Why would I need to be on my best performance?" Neal's eyes narrowed imperceptibly.
"Because there is a group of mobsters looking for you, taunting you," Peter said in a slow, slightly condescending voice, "Now if you ask me, I think there is a good chance that you might need to do some running or conning over the next few days to get out of your... predicament."
"You are not adverse to the idea of me conning out of my predicament?" Neal arched a brow a little playfully. "My my Peter. You have been corrupted."
"I tend to turn a blind eye when you use your skills for the greater good," said Peter sarcastically. "Now off to bed."
Neal didn't budge. He kept his brow raised, stared at the agent defiantly, and crossed his legs on the sofa.
"Oh, fine." Peter let out a long suffering sigh. "It's probably best if we both slept in the living room tonight."
Neal contemplated this for a moment, then conceded. "I guess I'll take the floor."
"No..." Peter rubbed his neck, then stood up. "We'll both take the floor. It'll give us an advantage if they return during the night. Help me move the coffee table, Neal."
"Ooh." The younger man's eyes lit up. "Camping in the living room."
They pushed the coffee table aside, rolled out blankets, puffed the pillows and settled down onto the floor. The agent checked his gun, put it aside his pillow, and caught the younger man quickly hiding something under his as well:
"What was that?"
"Oh, just some tools I keep by to ensure my own safety," said Neal breezily.
Peter eyed him suspiciously for a few moments, then decided to let go. He got up to turn off the light, grabbed a torch and padded back to lie down next to Neal. With the curtains tightly drawn, the room fell into a thick darkness, the night silent except for Neal's even breathing.
"Have you ever been camping, Neal?" Peter asked softly, after a few moments.
"Not on purpose, no," said Neal. "My area of expertise don't really extend to dealing with animals, wildlife, or flora and fauna."
Peter chuckled. "I should really take you some time. Setting up a tent in the woods, going for a bit of fishing...let's see how you can con the fishes into dinner..."
"Aw Peter." Neal let out a soft laugh, "I'm sure I can trust you to do the hard work while we are there."
"Oh yeah?" The older man shuffled on his pillow and turned to look at his companion, "I could teach you."
"We could do that," Neal agreed amiably. "Or I could con you into doing all the hard work."
Peter huffed a laugh and Neal could almost feel it on his cheek. He smiled to himself.
"Do you think this will ever be over?" Neal asked softly, after a few moments.
"Our partnership?" Peter sounded surprised.
"No! No." Neal said quickly, clearing his throat. "I mean the trouble. From my past."
Peter shook his head, and patted the other man in the dark. "Even if it doesn't, a little trouble can be exciting every now and again." He contemplated for a moment. "I am surprised, though... If you have had any more 'alleged' run-ins with the Mafia, rogue agents from the KGB, or anything of the sort, now's the time to let me know." Peter's voice was ambiguous, a touch serious but not without humour. "Always better safe than sorry."
Neal laughed silently. Next to him, Peter stifled a yawn.
"You are not a blanket hogger, are you?" said the agent, pulling a little closer. "It can get cold in the early morning, and I really prefer if I didn't catch a cold from you. You have been sneezing a lot lately."
"Nah. I was beginning to think may be I'm just allergic to Jone's new cologne."
"Jones wear cologne?"
"Oh, Peter."
The agent chuckled. "Good night, Neal."
TBC
A/N: The New York Museum of Art is fictional, of course, among other things. Also I don't remember if Burke house had a guest room, but let's pretend that they don't (or don't want to use it). A bit of domesticity before things get interesting (I hope).
Reviews are like warm fluffy bears, I'll hug you for it <3