It's been a while. Well, this just sorta came to me during my calculus class…so, don't expect much out of a short story I wrote on the back of my homework. This is me tipping my toe in the water before taking a cannon ball into the fanfic pool of…stories. Okay, well, enjoy, and don't hate on the awesomeness.
Peter grimaced at the nasty coffee, feeling his taste buds begging for mercy as the mud-like beverage slid down his throat. He had been at the FBI for a while now, not long enough to be called a veteran, but long enough that he knew what to expect; people in suits who worked nine hours a day on coffee that tasted more like the mud on his shoe then an actual cup of heavenly Starbucks coffee.
He sighed and ran his hands through his short hair, almost making sure that he even had hair. His wife (now three years running) had told him that morning of a friend of her's who was younger then Peter himself had recently gone bald. Ever since then, he had been checking his hair every five minutes to make sure he still had his precious hair on where it belonged.
While in the middle of checking his hair once again, Peter was tapped on the shoulder, being summoned out of his worried trance. A veteran agent who was on the verge of retiring pointed up to the main offices of the White Collar unit, saying something that got lost in the roar of phonecalls and discussion of criminals and stolen paintings.
Peter nodded at the agent and looked up to see his much older boss Hughes (who happened to be very much balding) giving him the double finger point and heading back into his office. Peter paused for a few seconds, almost in a trance, then scrambled to follow his boss, almost spilling his dirt tasting coffee all over himself.
"Burke," Hughes said sharply when Peter entered. "Sit down, and get that look off of your face, you're not in trouble."
Peter nodded and quickly took a seat, making sure to look as calm as possible, but couldn't help fidgeting under the man's cold stare. "Look at you, you're squirming like a kid in the principal's office, relax," Hughes commented before pulling out a case file.
"Sorry sir," Peter said, looking down at his shoes to ignore the man's cold glare that never seemed to leave his face, even when he broke out into a rare smile. "If you don't mind me asking, what is this meeting about?"
"Do you remember how I told you you were never to be the leading agent on a case again?" Hughes asked.
Peter swallowd quite loudly before saying, "Very clealry, sir."
About three months ago, Peter had been recommended by an agent who had switched over to a different Unit to be the leading agent of his own case. Hughes said if he could pull this one off with minimal offences, Peter might be looking at a little more then paper work every morning on his desk.
It was a simple case now that he really thought about it. A simple credit card scam with the trail leading almost right up to the main suspect's front door. Peter, being the simple, giddy agent on their first case by themself, had ran after the main suspect. This included survelliance, stake outs, even a few close calls of stalking the man with their surviellance vechile right behind them. After almost two weeks, which seemed much longer then nescessary now that he really thought about, Peter was certain of the obvious.
Completely ignoring the advice from his elder agents, he ran after the suspect who had been going under the name of Harry Lockhart. Despite all of the evidence that he was being led on while the real assiliant wandered off while the FBI chased after some poor innocent fellow.
He had bursted into Harry's apartment, gun in hand and shouting, "FBI!" Of course Harry just happened to be with a woman that night, causing very womanly screams coming from the bedroom. Thinking there had been a hostage and that this case ran much deeper then any of them thought, he ran into the bed room gun in hand.
With his adrenalin pumping high, he was startled when Harry Lockhart had thrown a pillow at him, shouting, "I ain't done notin' wrong, so get the f*** out!" Peter's hand accidently slipped, causing him to shoot and grazing the woman's shoulder, and putting him on suspension for two weeks and the real criminal ran off to some foreign country.
Ever since then, Hughes had never trusted Peter with a case…
Until now.
"Well, my mind has been changed. We've all done some stupid shit in our days…you have just done a little bit more then everyone else…but still, you deserve another chance," Hughes said.
Peter's eyes lit up at this. "Really, sir? I promise I won't-"
"Yeah, I know, you won't mess up. But really, that's just an empty promise. You have to actually do the work and not fail." Hughes passed the file over.
As Peter opened up the case file, Hughes began to give him a brief description. "His name is Neal Caffery, he's an art forger and a damn good one at that. He's commited several other crimes including, but not limited to, bond forgery, racketeering, and a list of several other crimes that goes a mile long."
"Do we have a lead on him?" Peter asked as he scanned the file. There was a small picture of this Neal Caffery from a surviellance camera, even from the distance with blurriness, he could tell that this man was oblivously a charmer and that he had picked the right proffesion…even if it was illegal.
"His girlfriend, Kate Moreau, was just spotted two days ago at the Moonlight Café. She headed back to the Starlight Motel and the clerk there said something about them being there for a little of five days and she came with a man. They checked in under the names of Nick Holden and Judy Hoffs."
"Starlight Café and Moonlight Motel? Someone is interested in the nighttime sky," Peter murmered.
Hughes snorted. "Yeah, that's Caffery. He's the classy charmer type, sly and tricky, but we think we have him cornered. It's your chance to prove yourself, Burke."
"I won't let you down," Peter said, closing the file and feeling that this was his chance to prove himself. Whoever this Neal Caffery person was, he just made his career. El would be pysched.
"Also, Burke, Caffery has a special painting in his inventory right now. It's a piece by Wassily Kandinsky called 'Flood Improvisation.' It's worth quite a penny and it's the museum's prize possession. Make sure you grab it from Caffery."
"Got it sir."
"Neal Caffery is a slippery eel, you may think it seems easy now, but wait until you meet the man."
Peter gave Hughes a smile, "Sir, trust me, I can figure this out."
"I certanily hope so, for your sake." Hughes waved Peter out with a simple hand gesture.
Peter exited the office, feeling his hair once again, checking to see if any bald spots showed up during the short meeting.
"Hey Burke, maybe Caffery will appreciate your bald spots," a passing agent said and turned around to smile at Peter.
"Very funny," he said, but checked once again, to make sure there wasn't any. As Peter sat at his desk, he said, "Now, let's get to know Mr. Neal Caffery."
What's with the obsession with balding? My teacher is totally balding and he's twenty-six…and he's wearing a toupee. It's all I can think about. I even wrote it for an answer.
Also, there are two references in here…can anyone find them? Also, expect a new chapter story for White Collar…I have too much free time. Sleep is overrated, let's write fanfic. :D