White Collar Fan fiction
Summary: What if Neal was never a criminal? What if Neil had never been in witness protection program, but was still hiding the truth of his past? Neal still ends up as a consultant for the bureau, but under different circumstances, and one day the secrets from his past are revealed.
Author's note:Someone asked me to write a White Collar fan fiction so here it is.. Probably not what they had in mind, but...
Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar, but I do own the character Oma :)
Chapter 1:
"Neal, for the last time, I'm not letting you drive!" Peter yelled.
"Peter I'm offended, as you're partner—"
"You are not my partner Neal, you're a consultant and not even out of your teens, which means you're not allowed to drive government cars, period. Now get in the car."
"Fine," Neal replied. After Peter started the car's engine, Neal asked, "What's the case anyway?"
"A stolen painting," Peter replied briskly.
"So—"
"Neal, I have a headache, okay? Just this once, let's try for some quiet."
Ten minutes later…
"Wow… a townhouse overlooking central park. Now I'm excited…"
"Yup, and the boss wants this case solved quickly—"
"I take it that's why there are at least a dozen police cars up and down the street. So, who exactly are these people?" Neal asked.
"I don't know, but whoever they are, they must have significant influence, do get the boss already breathing down my neck."
"Well then after you, Peter," Peter glared at Neal's cheeky grin, but walked forward and rang the townhouse's doorbell.
"Hello, I see we have more police, wonderful," answered a tall portly man with a thick European accent. "And who might you be?"
"I'm Peter Burke with the FBI. I'll be leading the investigation," and this, Peter indicated Neal, "is Neal Caffrey, a consultant for the FBI's white collar division," as Peter spoke he reached into his pocket and produced his badge.
While Peter spoke, Neal took in the interior of the townhouse and was surprised by the large amount of security presents. Peter had also taken in the presence of security and got a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach that told him this case wasn't going to be easy.
"Well then, come in," the man ushered Neal and Peter forward, closing the door behind them, "if you'd follow me." Turning the man began to walk purposely forward with Neal and Peter trailing behind him.
"Peter," Neal whispered, "I think you probably should have asked the boss about exactly who these people are. And how exactly did any one manage to steal from this place. It's like Fort Knox here."
"Thank you, Neal, I didn't realize," Peter replied sarcastically. "Now, just let me do the talking, okay?"
"Fine, whatever you say Peter."
They finally arrived in a large living area that seemed to be swarming with police. In the middle of the swarm sat an old lady, sitting elegantly as she watched the mayhem around her.
When Neal caught sight of her he froze mid step, "shit," he whispered. His eyes went wide and he looked like he had just swallowed a fish.
"Neal?" Peter asked, giving him a questioning look. "Everything okay?"
"Um…yes…of course Peter, everything is fine," Neal tried to regain his composure. "I…maybe I should wait in the car…I mean there are a lot of people here…maybe—"
"What is wrong with you? No, you can't wait in the car. I need you here."
"Fine…fine," Neal replied with his eyes now glued to the women sitting before him. Just then, as if she knew she was being watched, the woman looked up and met Neal's stare, transfixing him.
"O hemel!"(dutch for 'oh my god') the woman gasped. "Ik dacht dat je dood was(I thought you were dead),"the old lady now had tears in her eyes as she stared at Neal.
"Let, Oma niet heir en niet nu (Please, Oma not here, not now)," Neal replied to the old ladies remarks, his cheeks flushed and with sadness in his eyes.
"Neal?" Peter asked in shock, as he heard the foreign words exit his consultant's mouth. "What's going on? Do you know this woman? What language was that?"
"Dutch," answered the man, who had shown them in. "Her Majesty Queen Alexandra of Denmark," the man gave Peter a contemptuous look that clearly said, 'obviously.' "Your Majesty, this is Peter Burke of the FBI and Neal Caffrey—"
"Neal Caffrey?" The Queen asked with a confused look on her face.
"Yes, he's a consultant for the bureau, your highness," Peter replied, looking back and forth between Neal and The Queen. "Do you two know—"
"Mother?" Asked a voice from the doorway, and Neal immediately stiffened. "Hello," a man came forward into the room, "I'm Prince Edward, and you…I'm sorry," The Prince was now staring contemplatively at Neal, "do I know you?"
"No," Neal replied as he stared fixedly at the ground, "I don't think so."
"It's just you're eyes and…you look very familiar," The Prince had now moved forward to get a better look at Neal. "You're very young to be working for the FBI. How old are you?"
"Almost nineteen," Neal replied curtly.
Peter stared at Neal. Where was the charming charismatic young man, who had been standing before him a few minutes ago? "Neal's an expert in art and forgeries. He graduated early from—"
"Maybe I know you're parents?" The Prince cut Peter off; Neal flinched and pursed his lips, wishing he could be like Dorothy, he could just tap his heels and get out of there.
"They…um…you wouldn't know them" Neal looked helplessly over at The Queen.
"Edward perhaps we should speak somewhere more—"
"It's just you look a lot like my ex-wife. Startlingly so, in fact—"
"Edward…" The Queen interrupted her son. Neal's face had gone white and he looked ready to make a run for it.
"Neal?" Peter asked. "What's wrong?...I'm sorry your majesties…Neal's parents died in a car accident when he was young. Isn't that right Neal?" Peter asked and tapped Neal on the shoulder.
"My mom did, yes," Neal finally responded.
"Okay, that's it. Everyone," Peter piped up getting the attention of all of the policeman and others in the room, "can you give us the room please." The officers and others nodded and filled out of the room. Neal, unsure of how much longer he could remain upright, sat down on the couch across from The Queen, as he looked warily down at his feet. "Okay…what's going on?" Peter asked, he didn't care how much influence these people had, it was time he got some answers.
"Ik keek voor u (I looked for you)," The Queen whispered to Neal.
Neal looked up at the old lady with tears in his eyes, "Het spijt me Oma (I'm sorry Oma)—"
"Oma," The Prince asked angrily. "You searched for him?" The Prince asked his mother.
"I'm sorry," Peter was completely confused and was starting to wish for a Dutch translator right about now. "What does Oma mean?"
Neal looked upset with himself and his cheeks were flushed, "it's nothing Peter—"
"It means grandmother in Dutch," The Prince looked murderous now. "How long…how long were you going to hide this from me mother. Please tell me it isn't true—"
The Queen sighed, "Edward…I can explain—"
Neal looked up at The Queen, "Oma, please I don't want—"
"And when I'm done explaining you have a lot of explaining to do, young man," Neal blushed and nodded and diverted his gaze to a far off wall. "Edward…Mr. Burke…sit down."
"I…he's my…he's mine isn't he?" The Prince asked as tears began to form in his eyes.
"Edward, I know you're upset, but I want you to sit down so I can explain," for a second it looked like The Prince would refuse, but slowly he nodded and took a seat. "Mr. Burke please?" The Queen asked and Peter too took a seat.
"First, let's dispense with the lies, I'm far too old for all of these lies. Detective Burke, you called him Neal? That is not you're real name is it," The Queen asked of Neal.
"No," Neal replied not daring took look at Peter, "its Nicholas Holden," he muttered, barely above a whisper.
"Nicholas Holden?" Peter asked, Neal. "You…you lied about you're name?" He asked Neal with an incredulous look on his face. "What else did you lie about?"
"Well, I'm not eighteen," Neal admitted.
"Oh, please god, tell me the federal bureau of investigations did not employ an underage kid."
"I…I'm almost sixteen," Neal stammered out.
"What? You're not even old enough to drive? Sh*t, I'm so definitely fired."
"Fifteen? Mother how could you not tell me—"
"Edward, I didn't know about Nicholas until a little over five years ago. I hired a private detective to find her—"
"Why?" Edward asked.
"Because she disappeared and I cared about her well being. When they told me she had a child, I had no idea the child was yours. I arranged a meeting with her and when she told me the truth I insisted on meeting him. For a year we arranged visitations and eventually I convinced her she needed to tell you about the child, but a week before she was supposed to come forward there was an accident. The accident reports stated both mother and child died in the accident and that was the end of it. How could I tell you, Edward, that you had a son, but he was dead? I couldn't, so I continued on. I grieved for my grandchild alone."
"I'm sorry Oma," Neal whispered. He had no idea, what he had put his grandmother through.
"You should have told me mother. You shouldn't have had to deal with this all on your own and I had a right to know. Sarah had no right to keep my child from me—"
"I'm sorry Edward. You're right, I shouldn't have kept this from you… but what's done is done. Right now, Nicholas, why don't you explain to me what happened and why you let me believe you were dead."
"I…well…I was in the car, but it wasn't really an accident. My mom…I guess, she kind of panicked. She must have taken something…I could always tell when she…when she used, I guess," noticing the shocked expressions on everyone's faces, Neal felt the need to defend his mother. "She became addicted to pain killers when I was younger, but got clean. I think the idea of telling him," Neal nodded to Edward, finding it easier than calling him…was he supposed to call him Edward, your majesty, dad? "She kept saying, 'he'll be so angry.' She had only just told me the morning of the accident. I knew about Oma and that she was my grandma, but my mom had always just said my dad had died."
The Prince huffed out an angry breath, clearly not happy, "She…was supposed to take me to school, but she went in the wrong direction…I tried to tell her…but she ignored me. I was really angry, I was taking college art classes, and I was supposed to hand in an assignment…I didn't want to be late. I was yelling and she was so out of it. I wanted her to pull over…when she started swerving… anyway, I came to in a car flooding with water in some lake, she had driven the car over the side railing of a bridge. She…was already dead," Neal could feel tears streaming down his face as the memory of the worst day of his life came back to him.
"She had a piece of shrapnel sticking out of her chest," Neal was sobbing now. "I felt for a pulse, there wasn't one, but I knew that if I didn't find some way out of the car I was dead. The water was everywhere, but the doors were stuck…I managed to break a window and get out. When I got to the surface…got it was so quiet…when something that horrible happens, well, you just imagine if your world is being shattered so is everyone else's. I made it to land and then…I don't know…I couldn't look back. I couldn't stop thinking back was where my dead mom was and I couldn't…I just couldn't deal with it. Eventually I had to stop, mainly because everything hurt. I had some bruised ribs, a huge headache, and my ankle was killing me. I found a road and just sat down and watched as the cars went by. It's amazing, you'd think someone would stop…I was a ten year old kid, bleeding on the side of a road and not one person thought to stop…until Mozzie."
For the first time since Neal started his story he smiled, "Mozzie was a god to me. He stopped his car, but also did so much more than that. He got me on my feet. I told him what happened with my mom and that I didn't want to go back and he just accepted it. He let me stay with him for a while. He showed me another side of art; I guess the less than legal side. And then he forged some papers and I was back in school; he said I was smart, so he added a few years to my birth certificate. I suppose I fixated on work, school and art for a while; it helped to keep away the memories. Next thing I knew I was graduating Bard College at fifteen; though I guess they thought I was eighteen. During graduation some guy, who should have had FBI tattooed on his forehead, no offense Peter, walked up to me and offered me a job. I wasn't sure if I wanted to run or smile, but I don't know…something made me do it…I guess I wanted to help people and I don't like guns so being a consultant sounded like the next best thing."
Neal sighed tiredly, "I'm sorry I never came back Oma, but I didn't have anyway to contact you at first, and then when I figured out who you were…god, I thought it was too late to contact you and I thought it was better…not seeing you meant not having to deal with what happened. I guess…I might have blamed you for a while, at first. I think I always really blamed myself, and I couldn't bring myself to blame my mother…I loved her and she was dead. I just kept on remember her repeating over and over 'he'll be so angry." Neal sat staring at the tiles of the floor with nothing left to say. While the memories had brought back the sadness and horror of the accident, he felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.