Disclaimer: The characters of Person of Interest don't belong to me. I'm just borrowing them with no intention of gaining any profit by doing so.

Author's notes: I've been working on the concept of this story for almost three months now. I have re-started the story three times and rewritten I don't know how many times. Quite frankly, I am getting tired of it and that's why I'm calling it quits. I hope at least some of you will enjoy it. English is still not my first language, so I'm sure there will be mistakes. Sorry 'bout that.

The story takes place sometimes after 2x05 "Bury the Lede" and before 2x10 "Shadow Box" but it doesn't refer to any of the episodes.

As always, reviews will be highly appreciated.

Enjoy.

Chapter 1

John Reese carefully climbed the stairs, trying not to spill the hot contents of the two paper cups in his hands. Reaching the top of the stairs, he found the metal gate door to the library already open, the soft sounds of fingers hitting a keyboard drifting through the hall.

"Good morning, Harold." Finch didn't even turn around from his computers to acknowledge John's greeting. Instead he continued to type away. At least Bear seemed happy to see him, as he bounced over to John, wagging his tail as he followed Reese close on his heels.

"Good morning to you, too, Mr. Reese. Nice of you to finally show up."

John didn't need to check his watch to know that it was barely past seven in the morning. He silently went over to Harold's desk, depositing the paper cup of Sencha Green Tea he'd gotten on his way over to the library beside one of Finch's keyboards and proceeded to move past the desk over to the glass board. Absently scratching Bear behind his ears with his now free hand, he took a sip of his coffee from his own cup and studied the picture print-out of a smiling young man that had already been taped to the board. The man in the picture looked pretty much nondescript, but apart from the occasional mug shot they'd had on their board, all the faces looked nondescript.

John turned around to find a much more amiable looking Harold Finch fiddling with his cup of tea.

"I see we have a new number?"

"Yes. It came in earlier this morning." replied Finch, explicating his early and apparently quite busy presence at the library. Harold go up and joined Mr. Reese at the glass board. Indicating their newest number's picture with his tea cup holding hand he began the introductions.

"Meet Peter Connor, 35. He's single and has no apparent family. Parents died 15 years ago in a car crash. He's working at Reynolds Mutual Trust and Bank downtown, handling the bank's foreclosure proceedings."

Reese minutely raised an eyebrow and half turned to face Finch. "Housing foreclosures? That often involves a lot of emotion, especially resentment towards the bank and its employees. Might be the source of the threat towards Mr. Connor."

"It's certainly worth looking in to, but Mr. Connor here only handles the paperwork, not the actual foreclosures. And as far as I could see, he hasn't received any threats."

They both looked at the smiling face of their newest number while simultaneously taking a sip from their respective cups. Like an afterthought Finch added, "Actually, it's the only thing slightly interesting I could come up with during my preliminary background check. Everything else points to Mr. Connor leading a spectacularly unspectacular life. He works from 9 to 5 and in the five years he's been working at the bank he's never logged in late. He doesn't seem to take part in any social networking sites but he appears to be well liked by his colleagues and he even volunteers at a soup kitchen twice a week." Finch paused and turned to Reese. "Even I have to admit that he sounds like the most boring person in this city."

"But they always keep on surprising us, don't they?" John said softly as he studied the picture of Peter Connor more closely. The machine had brought up his number, which meant that something was definitely going on. Now, they only had to figure out what that something was, figure out Peter Connor's role in it and how to stop it before things got ugly. Business as usual.

Finch limped back to his computer equipment, tossing his empty cup in the trash. "Unfortunately, they do, Mr. Reese." He lowered himself stiffly onto his chair, eyeing the progress of his programs. "I was about to give Detective Carter a call to have her check for a police record, but if everything else so far is any indication, then I wouldn't hold my breath on her finding one."

Reese strolled over to see what Finch had been working on, but the screens could have been filled with cooking recipes disguised as computer code for all he knew. He placed his empty coffee cup on the desktop and guided Bear back to his doggie bed, ordering him to stay. John missed the annoyed look Finch sent his way as he picked up the offending cup and dropped it in the trash beside the desk for it to join the other cup.

"How do you suppose we should proceed, Mr. Reese?"

John gave Finch's question a moment of thought. "I think someone holding a grudge against Mr. Connor for having their homes taken away by the bank is our best angle." John looked at Finch, inquiring, "I'm guessing you've already hacked into the bank's computers and security systems?" The question earned him a 'what-do-you-think' look from his employer. Checking his watch, John continued, "He should be leaving for work soon. I'll try to get there before he arrives, see if anybody might be following him and blue jack his phone. After that, you'll be able to keep an eye on him at work, while I'll go and check out his apartment."

Finch's eyes just briefly connected with John's before they continued to scan the multiple screens in front of him again. "You'd better hurry up if you want to get there before Mr. Connor does. Traffic can be quite the nuisance at this time of the day."

John smirked, "Oh, don't worry, I'll be there in time." He collected his coat and on his way out told an excited tail wagging Bear, who'd been hoping for a walk or a game of fetch to stay behind and keep an eye on Harold.

Reese managed to arrive at the bank's downtown address five minutes before Peter Connor was supposed to make his appearance. He parked his motorcycle strategically close to the entrance of Reynolds Mutual Trust and Bank. Pretending to be fiddling with his gloves and then with his phone he inconspicuously observed his surroundings through the open visor of his black helmet. As far as Reese could tell there was nobody else lurking around out of place. As soon as their number walked around a corner coming from the direction of the nearest subway station and got close enough to have his phone blue jacked Reese called Finch.

"Finch, you there?"

"Always, Mr. Reese."

John allowed a small smile to twitch at his lips at what had become their little greeting routine over the months he and Finch had been working together. "I've got eyes on Connor and I'm connecting to his phone." He heard typing on the other end until Finch confirmed the successful cloning of Connor's phone.

Taking another look around John made sure nobody was following their number. "It doesn't look like our man has been followed. Do you have eyes on him, Finch?"

"Yes," replied Finch. "He just crossed the lobby and entered the elevator."

"Alright, time to check out his home."

Revving up the motorcycle's engine, John easily weaved into the early morning traffic, disappearing in the direction Peter Connor had just come from.

The lock on Connor's apartment door wasn't really much of a challenge for the ex-special-op. Not being seen while breaking and entering during broad daylight was a little more tricky, but not something Reese hadn't done before.

He cautiously looked over his shoulder one more time before carefully opening the door. Steeping inside he quickly closed the door behind him and tapped his ear piece, informing Finch that he had entered the apartment.

From his position by the door Reese took a first slow look around the visible parts of the apartment. Something about the place felt immediately off to him, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Yet.

Intending to find out what exactly had caused the hairs of his neck to rise, Reese began a methodical search of the two room apartment, still being mindful to not leave any evidence of his presence behind. John rifled through a stack of neatly arranged mail envelopes on the small commode beside the door - mostly bills, some advertisement, no personal letters - while Finch recapped his previous conversation with Detective Carter.

"She ran Mr. Connor's name and social security number through the police database, but as I suspected, she came up empty. He seems to be squeaky clean. Not even a parking ticket, though that's not as surprising as he doesn't own a car."

"That does indeed make it easier to avoid getting fined." John turned, directing his attention to the living room. "Same goes for speeding tickets, I would assume."

"Yes," replied Finch dryly. "Very insightful, Mr. Reese. I'm currently checking into Mr. Connor's bank accounts, but so far I haven't been able to detect any irregular money transfers or any signs of tempering. His accounts are all in balance and he does not seem to be in debt."

To John's ears Finch almost sounded a little disappointed. "So, our theory about the disgruntled ex-homeowner out for revenge is still our best bet."

"Well, if you haven't found anything at the apartment that points to something else going on than I'm inclined to agree with your assessment, Mr. Reese. Though, I still haven't been able to find any threats against Mr. Connor from former clients. Nothing in his emails - personal and work."

"Maybe we are dealing with a smart ex-homeowner who knows not to leave a paper trail." John theorized while opening and closing drawers and cupboards in the small kitchenette.

"His phone records don't show any unusual calls, either."

John continued his search in silence, looking through all the usual hiding spots. He dropped onto his knees, using a flashlight to illuminate the spaces underneath. Something under Connor's bed caught John's eyes. He had to lie flat on his stomach and stretch his arm to reach the object, which turned out to be a small wooden casket. Hoping to finally find something interesting, John opened the lid only to be disappointed by its content. Apparently, Connor liked to collect buttons of all sizes and color. Dropping the lid he shoved the box back where he found it.

By the time he'd finished his sweep of the apartment his initial feeling about something being off had intensified.

"Finch, there's nothing here." Standing in the living room he let his eyes roam over the space. "But something feels weird."

John could practically hear Harold's eyebrows crease in confusion. "What do you mean by 'something feels weird'?"

Involuntarily John shrugged his shoulders even though he knew Finch couldn't see the movement. "I don't know, Harold ... this apartment", trailing off he tried to figure out what exactly had set off his spidy-senses. "It's meticulously kept. And by that I mean spotless."

"So? Mr. Connor likes his home clean and organized. That's hardly a crime, Mr. Reese."

Ignoring Finch's comment John went on. "It's also lacking a personal touch. No pictures of friends and family. It looks like right out of a catalogue." He stopped to let his fingers rifle through a neatly stacked pile of magazines that looked like they had never been read, thinking over what he'd just said. "Actually, it kind of reminds me of my own place."

"Don't tell me Peter Conner keeps a walk-in closet filled with weapons, too." scoffed Harold, causing Reese to smile.

"No, he doesn't ... At least I haven't found one, yet."

Harold sighed, disappointment having morphed into frustration. "That, at least, would give us something to go on."

Proceeding to place their usual surveillance equipment throughout the apartment, John kept thinking out loud to share his thoughts with Harold. "Still, seems a little odd for a man with no military background to live like he's always ready to drop everything at a moment's notice and leave."

John took one last look around to make sure he wasn't leaving any traces of his visit behind. Finch, who had pondered on John's observation said, "I don't know, Mr. Reese. Maybe Peter Conner isn't who he claims to be. It's not like we never got it wrong before."

Reese couldn't argue with that. They had gotten it wrong a couple of times before, thinking that they were protecting an innocent, only to sometimes painfully figure out that others needed protection from them.

"Evil wears a mask, which looks like all our faces." John said softly, thinking of how many times that statement had turned out to be true. There had been times, John knew, the mask had just looked like his own face. He briefly closed his eyes to stop the memories from breaking through to the surface of his mind.

Finch's voice in his ear snapped him back to the present of Connor's apartment. "That's ... very philosophical of you, Mr. Reese."

"I must have read it somewhere." Reese mentally shook himself. "Finch, I'm done with the place. There's nothing here." 'Literally', he added in his thoughts, as he closed the apartment door behind him. Pausing briefly in front of the door he checked the hallway on both sides of him to make sure that no one had observed him leaving, but the place seemed deserted. He then made his way back to his motorcycle, not encountering a single soul.

Author's notes: Reese read the quote in The Book of Counted Sorrows. It originally goes like this:

Evil is a faceless stranger,

living in a distant neighborhood.

Evil has a wholesome, hometown face,

with merry eyes and an open smile.

Evil walks among us, wearing a mask

which looks like all our faces.