Chapter Text
"Let me take this one, Finch,"
Mark wondered why he was insisting on taking the case, a woman working for a shady real estate company.
"Are you sure you're up for it, Mr. Snow?" Harold said, "One child, female, and a dog. Divorced, and active on dating apps, that might be our way in." Harold went on as he attached pictures to the board.
Mark removed his reading glasses and put down his book at Harold's reply. There was no incentive for Mark, really. No promotion, or pay bump, or clearance upgrade, no reason at all for him to volunteer, except that a week without numbers was making him restless. It looked simple enough, and Finch was usually extremely busy at his terminal, updating their various cover identities. The library was hot, stifling. And with Harold busy, Mark's only company was Reese, who was being his usual insufferable self, lounging around on the furniture, a book he wasn't reading held in his hand.
Mark straightened his tie as he went to get his guns.
"I may not be able to charm the information out of her like Pretty Boy here--"
Finch interrupted Mark and himself, saying absently, "I think you're very handsome, Mr. Snow," which made both Mark and Reese stare at him. Finch reacted to the sudden increase in their attention, falling suspiciously silent when he had been keeping up a constant stream of information before.
It was amusing. You could almost hear his brain buffering, and the two agents smiled when Finch's ears turned pink as he got it.
"Be on your way, Mr. Snow," Finch said, and Mark held in his smile until he was out of the Library.