A/N: A friend and I were discussing POI and Leverage one day and decided the characters would be hilarious together. So naturally I had to write a story where that could occur. ;) Thanks to veggiewoppa for the brainstorming and plotting help and to domina tempore and PapayaK for betaing!

Standard disclaimer applies.

Also, if you're interested, this is set approximately late first season for Leverage and early second for POI.

"Mom! Mom, what's going on?" The little girl's eyes were wide as she ran up the sidewalk, her dark ponytail and backpack bouncing up and down against her shoulders. She halted halfway to the porch steps and took in the mess of belongings jumbled on the lawn. Her bottom lip trembled as she reached down to pick up a stuffed bear, now soaked from the puddle where it had landed. She held onto its muddy paw and turned her teary brown eyes towards the drama going on at her front door.

Her mother was just coming out of the house, ahead of a muscular, red-haired man who was nearly shoving her onto the porch. "Please," the woman begged. "This is our home! My little girl and I… We don't have anywhere to go!" She tried to put a hand on the man's arm, but he pulled away in disgust. At a loss for what to do with her hands, she ran her fingers through her dark hair and tried again with just words. "You can't just force us to leave!"

"Yes ma'am, I can," came the firm reply. He slammed the door behind him and plastered a piece of paper to it. Holding out a hand, he glared down his nose at the woman who was still pleading with him. "I need any keys to the property that you still have on your person. Now!"

"I… I only have the two you already took off of the keyring," she told him tremulously.

He nodded, looking pleased. "Then we're done here. Gather up anything you need and make sure it's off the grass by four. Mr. Smith said he'll have a truck stop by to pick up whatever you don't want. Have a good day, ma'am." His lip curled in a sardonic smile as he touched a hand to his ball cap brim. Descending the stairs in two long strides, he brushed past the girl still watching him and climbed into his blue pickup that was parked at the curb.

As the truck sped away, the girl ran up the sidewalk to her mother, who was leaning heavily against one of the porch columns. "Mom!"

"Hannah." Her mother held out an arm, and Hannah quickly ran into the embrace. "It'll be okay," she soothed, even as she looked out over the mess of furniture, clothes, dishes, and other items spread out on the front yard. "It'll be okay."

"You have to help my sister, Mr. Ford," the young man said, his voice soft but firm. "She shouldn't have lost the house. Not the way she did."

"Nate, please." The other man at the table, middle-aged with dark hair and a pensive look on his face, nodded slowly. "And you said she was current on the rent payments?"

"That's the thing," the man continued. "She had been -"

Just then, a pretty brunette hurried up and slid into the chair beside Nate. "Sorry to interrupt," she apologized breathlessly in a soft British accent. "This traffic… I mean, really." She smiled at the two men.

Nate looked like he wanted to say something to her, but then he thought better of it. "Ah, Mr. Goldman, this is Sophie Devereaux, my, ah, my associate."

"A pleasure," Sophie smiled. "Please, continue."

Goldman looked between both of them, then took a sip of his coffee and continued. "My sister, Leah, she had a great record with her payments. Never missed one, and we were so thankful that her friend introduced her to Smith. His loan was affordable, especially since Leah had already been turned down by several banks. Smith was her only chance at getting that house for her and Hannah."

"But then something happened?" Sophie prompted.

"Yeah," Goldman snorted. "Then Smith," he spat out the name in disgust, "raised her fees so high she couldn't afford them. We've tried nearly everything we can, but I'm here in Boston and she's in New York City. Plus… well, frankly, we don't have enough money between us to hire any kind of lawyer."

"So this Smith, he repossessed the house?" Nate asked.

Goldman nodded. "We have nowhere else to turn, and I heard… well, I heard you might be able to help us out. Is it correct that you… that you help people, free of charge?" He looked hopeful but guarded, as if he was worried that everything was false and he would have absolutely no other alternative.

The corner of Nate's mouth quirked in a small grin, but he just nodded. "That's right. We, ah, we work on an alternative revenue stream. So you want this Smith to return the house to your sister?"

"This isn't just about my sister," the man replied. "Yes, she wants her house back, but Smith has done this to other people before. I dug into the whole thing when Leah called to tell me what had happened. Smith has been doing this repeatedly. Not enough to draw any meaningful notice, but still." Goldman looked Nate directly in the eyes. "I want him to never hurt another family again," he stated firmly.

It was a frosty morning, barely after sunrise. Sunlight was just starting to illuminate the city, and even though it would be a while before most of the world was awake, New York City was already buzzing. A tall, dark-haired man strode along the sidewalk, two paper cups in hand. He sipped out of one as he went, watching the crowd of people streaming around him. None of them seemed to know that they were being watched - not by this man in the suit and trenchcoat, nor by the myriad of cameras that blinked on every street corner, at every ATM, and many of the stores and restaurants along the way.

The man blended into the crowd of unique personalities making their own ways down the streets of the city. He was poised and watchful, but he didn't seem to be ill at ease by any measure. He simply was more aware of his surroundings than those around him. The meaningful glances he threw at any of the cameras his glance happened to catch hinted that he knew more than the average person.

Before long, the man broke from the crowd. He took a turn down a side street, one less populated, and continued on his way. A few more turns, streets, and alleyways later, the man entered a library. From the state of its exterior and the dark lobby, it was evident that the building hadn't been frequented by patrons in many years. But the man seemed to know where he was going, and before long, he walked through a hallway between several shelves and entered an area that seemed very out of place in its surroundings.

The multiple computers, monitors, and other equipment that occupied one side of the open area were better suited to a summer blockbuster than an abandoned library. And although books lined the shelves along the walls, there was more than enough room for a cracked glass board that had several photographs and other sheets of paper taped to it. Even more out of place than the tables full of computer equipment were the dog bed and toys that sat on the floor near those tables. A large brown dog lay on the bed, contentedly gnawing on a rawhide bone. It looked up as the man in the suit entered the room, ears going back in excited recognition. Tail wagging, the Belgian Malinois ran over to the newcomer expectantly.

"Good morning, boy," the man greeted the animal in a low, hoarse voice. He grinned, offering a treat and a pat on the head. The dog leaned into the scratching behind his ears happily.

A small-statured, bespectacled man appeared in the far doorway. "Good morning, Mr. Reese. I trust you slept well."

In response, Reese offered the un-sipped cup. "Tea?"

Accepting the gift, Finch gave a small smile and a nod. "Yes, thank you."

"So," Reese prompted, nodding at the board as he took another drink of his coffee. "We have another number?"

Finch pulled his cup down. "Mm, yes." He walked slowly to the chair in front of the computers. There was a noticeable limp to his gait, and when he sat down, he did so rather stiffly. "Yes, the Machine just gave me one this morning. An Edward J. Kiernan." He nodded towards the picture that was taped to the board.

"This guy?" Reese studied the image. It looked just like a driver's license picture, only enlarged to a letter-sized sheet of paper. The man in the picture was in his fifties, with auburn hair that was slightly lighter at the temples and a very muscular build. His chin had a small scar almost dead center, but even with that, he could easily be called classically good-looking. "What's his story?"

"Well, he was a research scientist for a rather reputable pharmaceutical company until about… five years ago," Finch supplied, reading from his computer. "Then he was terminated. Employment records state it was for a lack of professionalism. After that, he bounced around between some smaller jobs, mostly in the pharmaceutical or insurance fields. Eventually, he set up shop on his own, where he now sells discounted drugs to those who can't afford to pay regular prices."

Reese turned from the board. "Any ideas on who would want to kill him?"

"Not as of yet," Finch replied with a shake of his head. "Although I can imagine Kiernan's business has the potential to create some unhappy customers."

"Oh?"

"There is always a risk when taking any medication, Mr. Reese. And when you purchase them discounted - especially from an independent source like Mr. Kiernan here - you're taking an even greater chance. There are many inferior drugs out there, made without the oversight of the FDA, which are much less expensive than those that are approved for public consumption. A business like Kiernan's might rely on the cheaper, more dangerous option in order to turn a profit."

Reese raised an eyebrow. "You think it's possible one of his customers had bad results and is angry?"

"Anything is possible at this point," Finch reasoned. "And don't forget, he could very well be the perpetrator." Finch was back to studying his computer screen. "Kiernan left his apartment as normal this morning. I suggest you keep an eye on him while he goes about his business today. Perhaps we'll be fortunate to discover the truth of this case immediately."

"We can hope," Reese commented. "Send me his address. I'm on my way."

The door opened and shut as a muscular man in jeans and a plaid button shirt walked into the loft. "Sorry I'm late." He brushed his brown, shoulder-length hair from his face as he headed for the kitchen at the back of the room, offering no more than the clipped apology before swinging open the refrigerator door.

A young blonde woman, who occupied the left side of the sofa, shrugged and leaned her head back to watch him. "It's okay. Hardison wasn't ready anyway."

"I was too ready!" came an objection from the front of the room as an African American man quickly looked up from the digital tablet in his hands.

"Then why is nothing coming up on the screen? And why did you look worried and start muttering about the signal?" she asked innocently.

"Parker, woman…" he trailed off without finishing his thought. "I was just, uh, waiting for Eliot. To be nice, thank you very much. No one appreciates my dang manners anymore."

A muffled snort came from the direction of the kitchen.

Conspiratorially, Parker leaned over to Sophie, who was seated beside her on the couch. "He wasn't ready," she said in a loud whisper.

"Ah, yes, well," Sophie looked between Hardison and Parker and held up her hands. "I really don't want to get in the middle of this, you know." She turned a pleading look on Nate, who was sitting in an armchair to her right. "Nate, can we start the… the presentation?" She waved a hand in Hardison's direction.

Nate sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Yeah. Yeah. Uh, Hardison, do your, uh, do your thing. And stop arguing. Please?" He directed a look between the two younger members of the team.

Huffing a sigh, Parker sank back in her seat. "Eliot, you saw what happened," she pleaded.

"Oh no," Eliot responded as he came over to take a seat on the back of the couch. Biting into an apple, he raised an eyebrow. "I am not getting in the middle of this. We all know how protective Hardison gets about his equipment."

"Protective?" Hardison exclaimed, looking up again from what he had been typing. "Protective? Oh, I'll show y'all protective all right."

"Just start the show, Hardison," Nate interjected.

Hardison made a face, prompting Parker to throw a piece of popcorn at him, but acquiesced. His offense was noticeable at first, but that slowly dissipated as he settled into presentation mode. "Walter P. Smith," he announced, hitting a button on his tablet. The three large television screens mounted on the wall behind him lit up, displaying a picture of a heavy-set, bald man in his early thirties. "Mr. Smith is a self-titled 'funds manager,'" he added air quotes with his free hand, "for people who can't get loans the traditional way, from a bank or one of those specialized lending companies. Basically, if you need a loan quick, off the books, or you've been denied everywhere else, this guy'll take your money. He's got his own official office with a sign and everything." Another click of a button showed a small storefront with a sign painted on the window that announced, 'Walter P. Smith, Investments.'

"Ooh, so he's a loan shark?" Parker wanted to know.

"Sort of," Hardison clarified. "He doesn't charge as high of a rate of interest as most - at least not at first - which is why so many clients have gone to him."

Nate nodded. "Right, it looks really good on the surface, so people with no choice but an independent lender will turn to him first."

"Like our client's sister," Sophie chimed in. She reached over to grab a handful of Parker's popcorn as she continued, "They feel like they have no other options, and Smith promises a good deal."

"Yeah. But," Hardison added, "his contracts contain so many pages of fine print that most people don't bother to read them all. Then he hikes interest rates, using the authority he was given when they signed off on the contract."

"And then they get to the end of their ropes and wind up doing desperate things to survive," Eliot remarked, shaking his head.

Hardison nodded as he hit another button on the screen in his hands. Several shots of account statements and contracts spread across the screens, layering over the images that were already displayed. "Anyway, I've been busy digging into our friend Smith's records and online history. Looks like he settled in New York City about six months ago, and he's showing no signs of leaving. He's got quite a market right now with all of the people living there, and he's been slowly working his way through the desperate and down and out population."

"Then that's where we're headed," Nate remarked. "We'll get Smith hooked on an investment that's too good to pass up, and then we'll turn the tables on him. We just need to find his weak spot."

"Cake," Hardison spoke up.

Nate raised an eyebrow and turned back to the hacker. "What?"

"You wanted to know his weak spot," Hardison explained, spreading his hands in a half-shrug. That's it."

"Hardison, you better not be making things up again," Eliot muttered.

In response, Hardison just raised an eyebrow. "Thank you very much for your vote of confidence, but I happen to have done my research on this guy. You know, since that's my job and everything. What… what do y'all think I do all day anyway?"

"I don't know," Eliot shot back. "You're up all hours of the night playing video games. How am I supposed to know when you actually do some work or when you just decide to wing it?"

Hardison grunted in annoyance. "Of all the ungrateful… And I don't stay up all night very often, thank you very much. Usually just part of the night, and it's always for very good reasons. Like last night, when there was an impending -"

Nate cleared his throat. "You were saying, Hardison?"

"Right." Shooting one last glare at Eliot, Hardison turned his attention back to the rest of the team. "So, after going through his credit history and internet searches - and you do not want to know what deep dark secrets I found in there. The man is nasty, y'all." Hardison cringed momentarily. "It would seem that our friend Smith is interested in the art of pastries." Hardison tapped a command into his tablet and then gestured at the screen as new images filled it. "See, he's been researching recipes, watching reruns of Cupcake Wars, and playlisting dozens of baking tutorials on YouTube. He's also been looking into some 'for lease' restaurant properties in his area."

"Ooh!" Parker's hand shot up. "Eliot makes amazing cupcakes," she said excitedly when the others turned her way.

Four pairs of eyes shifted to Eliot, who just shrugged one shoulder. "What? A man can't enjoy boxing and baking?"

"That's it, then," Nate nodded decidedly. "Pack your bags, team. Let's go steal -"

"Oh, Nate," Sophie's eyes were alight as she interrupted whatever Nate was going to say next, "can we schedule in some extra time? There are some darling little shops I'd just love to visit while we're there."

Parker made a face. "Are you going to make me come again?" she sighed, looking less than enthusiastic about the prospect of being dragged around the city with the other woman.

"Make you? Parker, I thought you loved it!"

"Okay!" Nate clapped his hands together, catching the look on Sophie's face and wanting to head off the inevitable rant. "Let's go steal a cupcake."