Ok guys! I'm trying out a few things with this story: first off, it's still very much a WIP, which I usually try not to do. I usually try to have the stories done or mostly done before I post them, but I thought I would give this a shot. Second, I'm going to try to update the story weekly, instead of daily or all at once like I usually do with my stories. Third, this is actually my first attempt at a crossover, so we'll see how it goes...

I've read over it a few times and tried to catch any mistakes, but I don't have a beta, so any mistakes are mine :)

Zoe Morgan does appear in this chapter, but as far as I can tell, she isn't going to be critical to the story. You may see her again if I decide that she can help out, but otherwise this is Zoe's part in this story.

As always, reviews and CONSTRUCTIVE criticism are welcome :) If you start to read and find that you don't like the way I'm portraying the characters or you don't like the storyline, you are under no obligation to continue reading.

I own nothing of Person of Interest OR White Collar. If I did, I would NOT have left EITHER of those shows off where they were... :'(

"We have a new number, Finch?" Reese asked as he walked into the Library with a cup of coffee.

"Indeed we do, Mr. Reese." Finch rolled away from the computer and stood up, walking over to the glass and taping up a picture. "Bert Rollins; he's an art and antiquities dealer working out of lower Manhattan."

"Anything stick out when you ran a background check?"

Finch shook his head. "No, nothing out of the ordinary. I can't find anything that would make it seem like he's in danger."

"Maybe he's the perp?" Reese asked after taking a sip of his drink.

"Nothing in his history suggests any sort of violent background; I doubt he's the one behind whatever is about to happen," Finch pointed out. Reese shrugged.

"Where do I find our 'Mr. Rollins'?"

"He's hosting an event tonight. It's a charity auction, and I have a ticket for you to get in."

"Great. What time is it at?"

"It starts at 8:30. There is a slight catch though, Mr. Reese…"

John stared at his partner, eyebrows raised slightly. "I'm not gonna like this, am I?" The apologetic look in Harold's eyes confirmed that statement. "What is it Harold? What do I have to do?"

0-0-0

"Finch, remind me to pay you back for this after our number is safe," John complained as he fiddled with the mask on his face.

"I dunno, John," Zoe said as she walked up to him. "I think it makes you look rather dashing. Mysterious."

"Thank you again for your help tonight, Ms. Morgan," Finch said over the coms before John was able to reply.

"Anytime. John has a hard enough time being sociable; I couldn't imagine what he would have been like if he had to come alone and try to blend in during a masquerade when he can't actually see anyone's face," she quipped. John's mouth slanted in annoyance at the fixer, but something out of the ordinary caught his eye, making him forget about her last comment.

Two men in suits were just coming into the large ballroom, but unlike every other person there, they were not wearing masks. One was older, probably in his mid-forties; his suit looked like it was more of an everyday work suit, and his eyes had a stern look in them as he surveyed the room.

His companion was a younger man, probably in his late twenties, maybe early thirties. Unlike his older friend, the suit he was sporting was high quality. It was light gray, both the suit coat and the pants, and his tie was a solid dark blue with a silver tie clip. Reese had to admit that the younger man had style, and what looked like very expensive taste in clothing. He had the fleeting thought that if Finch and this man ever met, they would probably have a grand time talking about the different styles of suits and clothing.

"Finch, two men just entered the room. They aren't wearing masks, and they're looking around the place like they're staking it out," John muttered as he turned away from the two newcomers.

"These could be the men that are here for Mr. Rollins. Keep a close eye on them if you are able to, Mr. Reese."

"Copy that, Harold." Reese walked around the edge of the dance floor, eyes rotating between the two men and their number. Rollins was standing in the midst of a large crowd, women all around him.

"Hey," Zoe said as she caught his arm. John looked down at her. "Come on, you stick out when you're just staring at everyone." She led him onto the dance floor.

"Zoe," Reese started to protest, but the music began and his companion started dancing. "If we're going to dance, I'm going to lead," he insisted as he took control of their foxtrot.

"Be my guest," she said with a smile. Her mask was gold and white, with white feathers coming out of the top, adding a dramatic flare to it. As they glided across the dance floor, Zoe gave John and impressed look. "John, I'm surprised. I didn't know you could dance."

"It was something I enjoyed doing while I was younger," he admitted, dipping his partner. "I haven't done it in years though."

"Must be like riding a bike," Zoe commented as she admired the fluidity that the two of them had as they danced. John said nothing in reply, keeping his eye on Bert Rollins.

It seemed their number had noticed the presence of the two unmasked gentlemen standing off to the side. John watched as Rollins motioned one of the servers over. Rollins stepped away from his large group and jerked his head over to the two newcomers, making the waiter glance over. While the server was distracted, John saw Rollins slip something into the remaining two glasses of champagne left on the serving tray. The young waiter looked back and nodded, completely unaware that something had been put in the drinks.

Reese had a bad feeling as he watched the server make his way over to the two men. "Zoe, stay here," he ordered, not waiting for a response as he fought his way off the dance floor. The older man declined the drink offered to him, but the younger man took it, addressing his companion before starting to bring it up to his lips.

John completely lost track of Bert, but he was more concerned for the two men. "Finch, I don't think Bert is the victim here!" he grunted as he lunged for the young man, trying to stop the liquid from entering his mouth.

0-0-0

"Peter, don't you think we should have worn masks too?" Neal asked as the two of them walked in and observed the rest of the crowd. "You know, so we don't stick out as much as we are?"

"No," Peter replied simply but firmly. "If this tip pans out and someone does try to steal one of the pieces here, I'm not going to have a stupid mask getting in my way while I'm slapping handcuffs on someone."

They had gotten a tip earlier that day that there was going to be a theft of a very valuable statue that was being showcased tonight at a masquerade charity event. Burke felt a little wary of the tip, especially since the man who called it in had refused to give them a name. Hughes had insisted they go though, just in case. There had been a string of robberies matching this same MO, and Hughes wanted to catch the responsible party.

Neal shrugged. "Whatever," he said as he eyed one of the women standing nearby. She glanced down shyly and giggled as Neal flashed his charming smile at her. Peter stared at him in annoyance. "What?" the con man asked asked innocently.

"Really? Now?"

"Peter, what better time than the present?"

Burke rolled his eyes and commenced ignoring his CI for the moment, instead choosing to scan the room looking for any suspicious activity. He noticed one man staring at him intently, but after a few seconds, the man turned and walked away, followed by a lovely woman. They made their way to the dance floor, and Peter decided they weren't worth his time. He shifted his focus to the pieces of art that were placed strategically around the room for potential buyers to stop and stare at.

A few moments went by where nothing happened, and all he heard was Neal next to him, chatting with one of the girls nearby. He sighed inwardly. He wanted to be at home right now eating dinner with El, not waiting here for a robbery that might or might not happen.

A server approached him and Neal, offering them each a glass of champagne. Peter declined, but Neal took one of the offered beverages.

"Neal, we're on the clock," Burke reprimanded.

"But I'm not a cop," Neal shot back with a wink. He brought the flute up to his lips and was about to drink from the glass when something collided into him, smashing the drink to the floor. There were shouts and exclamations of terror from the women around them as they ran away. Neal shoved the man away from him.

"What on earth was that?!" he exclaimed, trying and failing to wipe champagne off his suit. Before he answered, the man who had run into Neal turned and grabbed the other glass of champagne from the serving platter. He turned around and faced the two men who were glaring at him, pulling his mask off as he did so. Peter had his hand on his sidearm, ready to pull it out if he needed.

Finally the man spoke. "There is a man over there who poisoned these drinks," he explained quietly, holding up the second glass of champagne. Burke scoffed.

"And you expect us to believe that?"

The man shook his head and opened his mouth to reply, but his eyes widened and he lunged at Burke. Peter was too slow to pull his firearm, but he realized he would have been shooting at the wrong person as a shot echoed out and pain laced across his arm.

"Peter!" Neal exclaimed, anger about his wet suit now forgotten as he stared at his handler and friend.

"I'm alright, I'm alright," Peter assured the worried man. There were screams and everyone was flooding the exits trying to get out as fast as they could. The man who saved Peter stood up and offered a hand, which Peter accepted after a moment. He was hauled up, grunting as the movement jostled his hurt arm.

"Let me see," the other man said in a quiet voice. Peter hesitated but finally held out his arm. "It just grazed you," he finally said.

"Who are you?" Neal asked, eyes slightly wider than normal.

"Just someone who cares about helping people," the man replied distractedly. He turned around and walked a few paces away, seeming to be talking to someone. Neal strained his ears to listen. "Harold? Bert wasn't the victim, he was the perpetrator. No, everyone's fine for now. He tried to poison their champagne, but when I stopped that, he had a sniper take a shot at one of them." He paused and listened for a minute, but Neal couldn't see a phone anywhere. "Just a graze on his arm." The man turned around and noticed Neal staring at him, making him walk further away to keep his conversation private. Neal wanted to follow him, but he decided against it, wanting to make sure Peter was really okay.

0-0-0

"Mr. Reese, I'm glad everyone is alright, but I should warn you that NYPD is on their way. I let Detectives Fusco and Carter know about it as well, and they're going to try to stay updated on the case, even though there wasn't a homicide. Do you have eyes on Mr. Rollins?"

John looked around, berating himself for letting the man out of his sight. "No. I lost him," he said. Harold could hear the frustration in his voice.

"Then it's a good thing you guys had me around, huh?" Zoe's voice came in over the coms. John's head snapped up.

"Zoe? You have him?"

"Yeah, I followed him when you ditched me on the dance floor," she quipped. "He ran out the back exit as soon as you tackled the second guy to the ground."

"Zoe, be careful, I'm on my way to you right now," John said as he hurried towards the back door. "Where are you?"

"I'm on the street just west of the building," she replied. "He was a little ways ahead of me, but I think I can-" There was a thud and suddenly she was cut off. John stopped dead in his tracks.

"Zoe?" When there was still no reply, he started walking again, faster and faster until it was almost a jog. "Zoe! Finch, talk to me. Where is she?"

"The last place her cell phone places her at was just off 14th and 10," came Harold's reply. He sounded worried as well. John ran towards the intersection as it came into sight.

"Zoe?" He called out, glancing around frantically. He heard a soft moan coming from behind a dumpster at the mouth of an alley. He hurried over and found his friend on her back, just starting to stir. He crouched down, helping her sit up slowly. "Zoe?" John asked in his quiet voice, looking her over.

"I'm fine, I'll be fine," she insisted, waving him off with one hand while massaging her temple with her other. John could see a large bump on her head and noticed even in the poorly lit area that it was starting to go different shades of blue and purple.

"Zoe, what happened?" Reese asked.

"I don't know. I was walking and talking to you when someone hit me over the head with something," she explained. "I lost track of him while I was talking with you; he must have hid somewhere and waited for me to pass before attacking," she mused.

Reese helped Zoe stand slowly, making sure that she was supported even though she kept insisting she was fine. They made it to their car and John helped Zoe into the passenger seat. When he shut the door, she immediately leaned her head back against the headrest. He got in the driver's side and started the car, pulling away from the curb.

"Finch, I'm taking Zoe home," Reese informed the man on the other end of the coms. Zoe's eyes shot open.

"What? No, you can't send me home!" she insisted. John looked at her with skeptical eyes.

"Zoe, there is almost no doubt that you have a concussion. What you need right now is rest," he stated softly. "This is non-negotiable," he added as he saw her open her mouth to argue. She glared at him but didn't say anything else. As they were driving, Finch asked John about the two men from the event.

"The younger guy didn't seem like he was much of a fighter," John explained. "The other one though, he looked like he could hold his own. He had a gun on him at the party, and the way he was carrying himself suggests some sort of law enforcement. If I had to make a guess, I would say FBI." There was the sound of typing on the keyboard as Finch tried pulling records up, and Reese remembered something else. "Oh, and the younger guy had something on his ankle. It looked like a monitoring device," he added.

"Alright, that could help narrow things down," Finch muttered mostly to himself. "I'll see what I can do, Mr. Reese."

"Thanks Harold." The call was disconnected and John and Zoe continued their drive in silence.

They pulled up outside Zoe's apartment and John walked with her up the stairs. As the front door was opened, John gently grabbed her arm. She looked up at him, and John could see she was still upset about being sidelined. "Zoe, thank you for all your help tonight," he said with complete sincerity. "I'll stop by soon and see how you're doing," he promised. He turned around to leave.

"John," Zoe called out. He stopped and turned back. "Catch this guy," she urged. John nodded, then turned and walked back to his car.

Thoughts?