My second Person of Interest story! I hope everyone enjoys it.

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to the show Person of Interest. I'm just having a little fun with John and Harold.


MEET ROBIN RAVEN

By: Vanessa Sgroi

Spying a stranger facing away from him, a brunette in a wildly patterned dress and low-heeled black pumps, John's footsteps slowed as he approached the inner sanctum of the library. Pulling his firearm, he motioned for Bear to stay and stepped silently forward. "I suggest you stop right where you are," he growled. "Turn around. Now!"

"Mr. Reese." The "stranger" turned revealing Finch's familiar bespectacled countenance, now masked by an assortment of cosmetics.

John's jaw dropped. "Harold?"

"Something wrong, Mr. Reese?" queried Finch, quite nonplussed.

"Uh…what…" John swallowed uncomfortably. "I mean…is there…uh…is there something you'd like to tell me?"

"Whatever do you mean?" Finch limped toward his partner, a smirk quirking his lips. He met Bear half way across the room and scratched the dog behind the ears.

"Your…um…rather unusual attire?"

"Oh. That. It's for our latest case."

John quirked an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yes. You see, our Henry Turner has a rather interesting secret hobby, Mr. Reese. He's an entertainer—a female impersonator—at the Scarlet Moon, an exclusive club catering to an eclectic clientele."

Reese waved a hand up and down at Harold's attire. "Thinking of a secret hobby of your own, Finch?"

"Hardly." Harold grinned and rolled his eyes. "I don't have the legs for it. No, I need to get into the backstage area of the Scarlet Moon to get some equipment in place. After a bit of research I've discovered that no one, and I mean no one, gets backstage unless they're 'dressed to impress' if you will. I suspected it might be a little easier for me to undertake this…duty…and spare you the…hassle. Hence, the debut of Robin Raven." Finch half-bowed.

"And for that I am eternally grateful, Finch."

Harold stood straight. "I thought you would be. Now, I need to get over there. The best time to slip in is when the eight o'clock show starts."

Reese stepped aside, letting Harold pass. "Need a ride?"

"No, no. I've got it under control."

"Hey, Harold?"

Finch stopped and turned toward the taller man, a questioning look on his face. "Yes, Mr. Reese?"

Reese grinned ruefully. "Not for nothing, but you make a really unattractive woman."

"Indeed," agreed the quirky billionaire. "But I daresay, you would have been a lot worse." Finch turned away again. After a couple of steps, John stopped him again.

"Oh, Robin," Reese singsonged with a laugh.

"Yes?"

"Don't forget your purse."

FIN