This story takes place somewhere in season four I guess. Thus if you haven't watched the whole series be aware of spoilers. A lot of thanks to my beta AoiLegend
Have fun reading my new story!
/
"Good work guys! It's been a tough week, let's go home for today. I don't want to see anyone from this team earlier than ten tomorrow. Is that clear?" Peter commanded.
His team was exhausted. Jones had dark shadows under his eyes and he looked like he hadn't shaved for the past week at all. Diana was pale, she had spent far too much time in the van. Even the Harvard crew seemed unhealthily tired. They had done a good job for the past few days, Peter had to admit that. They had hunted down one of the best bank robbers of this decade. He might've even been better than Caffrey. Although it was tough to compare them since Peter was pretty sure that Neal had never robbed a bank; at least not in his criminal past.
"AM or PM?" Neal asked. Of course it was Neal who asked such a stupid questions. Nobody else on his crew would think to ask that.
"8 AM for you, Neal," Peter jocked with him. He received a grim look from Neal.
"Oh, come on, Peter. The team needs a break. One day off… we deserve that," Neal tried to argue. Of all people in the room Neal looked the worst. His skin was pale, dark circles were under his eyes and there was that nasty colorful bump on his head. Peter still couldn't believe that the ex-criminal didn't have a concussion. But an emergency doctor had assured him that Neal was perfectly fine except that he needed some rest.
"I hate to admit it, but Neal has a point. Everyone who needs more time to rest or to catch up with family and friends can come in after lunch. See you guys tomorrow." That signaled everyone that it was okay to leave. Even Neal was really eager to go home, he jumped off of his seat but before he reached the door, Peter called him back. "Not you, Neal. We have to discuss something." Neal sighed and sat down again. He wondered if he had done anything wrong but Neal was pretty sure that he hadn't on this case. "How is your head, Neal?" Peter asked concerned.
"Fine. I just need some rest," Neal answered. "Maybe a little wine with Mozzie, too." He smiled, but he couldn't fool Peter. Neal was pretty much dead on his feet.
"When was the last time you had a day off?"
"I don't know? Four weeks ago? We've been rather busy for the past view weeks."
"Mostly you. I mean you've done a hell of a job Neal." Neal looked at Peter with surprise. He knew that Peter valued him but he rarely praised him, especially the past few weeks. All of them had been on edge and Peter tended to take it out on Neal. "Neal, you've been undercover for most of the month and you nearly got killed twice. But because of you we got that guy. I am proud of you, Neal, I just wanted you to know that."
Neal blushed a little. "Well thanks, Peter. If you don't mind, I would like to go home now. See you for dinner, El invited me. I hope you don't mind."
Peter smiled. "Of course not. 8 AM tomorrow was a joke by the way," Peter explained.
"Thought so," Neal said as he stood up. Neal put his hat on carefully not wanting it to touch his head injury.
"When I said 8 AM, I meant 8 AM on Monday. Neal, I want you to take the rest the week off."
Neal looked at him in shock. "What, Peter? It's only Tuesday!"
"Yes, it is."
"What am I supposed to do? It's not like I can go on a vacation."
"Two miles in New York is a lot. Maybe you can read. Or paint. I don't even mind if you copy a masterpiece of whomever you like as long as you don't try to sell it as the real thing."
"Thanks, Peter. I guess I could use a little time off."
"You are welcome. See you at eight at my house. I need to finish some paperwork now."
"Alright, see you."
"Oh, Neal, and don't do anything stupid just because you are bored." Neal didn't answered that. He just walked out of the door smiling.
/
That's why Nick always worked alone. Other people were either too stupid or unreliable. But this job was a two man job. Nick just couldn't carry the painting alone. First he had thought about a wheel barrel or some kind of vehicle, but after he couldn't come up with a plan on how to carry some kind of vehicle down narrow stairs he decided to hire somebody. Since Nick believed in his theory that other people were either stupid or unreliable, he preferably had chosen stupid. It was his first job outside of Europe and he didn't have a lot of streets contacts. If he had otherwise then he would've known that the man he had hired was both stupid and unreliable. That's the reason why Nick was now lying on the floor with a bullet wound and fighting for consciousness. It was only a matter of time until the police or the FBI came. Nick had already lost the painting. He tried to stand up; he wasn't going to lose his freedom, too.
/
"What do we have, Jones?" Peter asked.
They were in a temporary art gallery, which was supposed to open today but now it wasn't going to.
"Two robbers. The missing painting is named "Where Do We Come From? Who Are We? Where Are We Going" from Paul Gaugin," Jones informed the older agent briefly.
"What about the blood?" Besides a big empty wall there was a pool of blood which worried Peter.
"Well, the theory is that one of the robbers turned against the other. A sample is already in the lab. We will know more later."
"Okay, Jones. First we have to find out how they came in and out. What's on the security cameras?"
"You can't see their faces, but you can see the scene when the one shot the other."
"Okay, show me the video." Peter demanded. Walking towards the video room they met an all too familiar face.
"Neal, what are you doing here? It's your day off." Jones asked as he saw Neal who was smiling as brightly as always.
"Actually I wasn't planning on working. I just wanted to see the new art gallery. When I saw that it was a crime scene… well I thought I could get free entry. I hope the robbers didn't take much; I was so eager to see the gallery. It was supposed to be a really good temporary collection."
"Well, they took one painting. A Gaugin." Peter explained. "'Where Do We Come From? Who Are We? Where Are We Going?"
"That's my favourite! That was the highlight of the whole gallery. The Museum of Fine Arts in Boston discussed for ages about if they should rent the painting or not. Besides the painting is huge. How did they get it out?" Neal questioned.
"I don't know, Neal, but we are going to find it out. Luckily they left a lot of liquid DNA on the floor."
"Blood?"
"Apparently one robber shot the other but both ended up escaping. We have it on video."
"Can I see?" the young con asked. Since they had stared the conversation the con's eyes got brighter and more curious. Peter didn't like that look because it showed that Neal still admired successful crimes like a little kid who admired magic tricks.
"No you can't" Peter got a bit angry. "You shouldn't even be here. How did you even get through security?"
"Peter! They just let me in. You know I went to about hundred crime scenes with you. They started to let me enter crime scenes without asking in my first month."
"Well, either way go home. I don't want to see you near any crime scene before Monday, got that?"
Neal looked disappointed. "Can I at least walk through the gallery?"
"No!"
/
Later that day Peter sat quietly in his office looking over the crime scene photos. This was going to be a hard one if the DNA test showed no results. He still had no idea how the robbery was done. He actually couldn't wait for Monday. Caffrey would surely have an idea about how the heist went.
Diana knocked on his door and entered. She had a file in her hand, a rather thick one. Peter knew what this meant. "Diana, we have DNA match?" Peter said enthusiastically.
But Diana didn't seem to be as happy as Peter. "Yes, we have a match." She confirmed with a rather serious voice.
She gave Peter the file. Peter opened the file. He didn't have to read anything to understand who it was. The photo of a young handsome man with baby blue eyes was enough to know the whole story. Neal, what have you done?
/
Neal hated to agree with Peter but he was right; he had been exhausted and a few days off did him wonders. He had read a book for the first time since prison, he had painted and he went to the theatre to see one of Oscar Wilde's plays. But he was still pretty curious about today's robbery. Neal looked at the painting he was drawing. It was Gaugin's painting but in much smaller.
Some one knocked on his door. "Come in" Neal answered. Neal didn't except Mozzie any time soon, because the short guy said he had to take care of a 'client', whatever that meant, thus Neal was pretty sure it was Peter even before the agent came in. But he was surprised to see Jones, too. "Hey, what's up guys? You can't solve a case without me?" Neal joked. But both Peter and Jones remained serious. Dead serious. Neal got the feeling that something was wrong.
"What happened? Is somebody hurt?" Nobody answered him. "Diana? Is Diana alright?" Still no reaction. Was it about El? But Peter was far too calm for that. "Oh god, is it Mozzie? What did he do? Is he in custody? Is he hurt?" Peter and Jones continued to glare at him.
"Why are you shirtless, Caffrey? Put something on." Neal was confused. What had happened? He examined Peter's face closer. He wasn't only serious, he was angry, too. "Now!" Peter shouted at him.
Neal nodded and pulled shirt over his head hoping he would get an explanation sometime soon. After Neal was done Peter took out his cuffs. "Neal Caffrey, you are under arrest for robbery. You have the right to remain silent." Neal didn't do anything when Peter cuffed him behind his back. The cuffs were too tight, but he couldn't complain, he couldn't say anything. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law." Neal looked at Jones hoping that the younger agent would reveal him what was going on. But he only met unfriendly and judging eyes.
"I didn't do anything!" Neal finally cried out. "It's a set-up" But Peter ignored him.
"You have the right to an attorney."
"What's going on, Peter? Talk to me."
"If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you." After Peter had read Neal the Miranda rights both of the agents were silent. They didn't answer any of Neal's questions. Neal noticed that Jones took the copy of the painting that was stolen today off of his easel. Neal warned him that the paint was still wet, Jones only nodded. When they went out of his apartment, Neal saw that Peter and Jones weren't the only ones. The house was surrounded, there was a SWAT team and everything. That meant that this was serious. He looked desperately at his friend. Peter's face was still like stone. Jones opened the door to the car. Neal was about to get in, when suddenly he felt something hitting his chest. It didn't really hurt that much. But somehow everything got slower, also everything quieted around him as if he were deaf. He could see that Peter was shouting something but he couldn't hear what. There were a lot of people moving, pointing their guns at something. But what bothered Neal more was that he couldn't move his body, he felt numb. Suddenly he was lying on the ground. Peter above him. Peter didn't look like stone anymore. He looked more concerned about something. He opened Neal's cuffs, though Neal didn't understand why the agent would do that. He talked to Neal, but Neal still couldn't hear. Then Peter pressed his hands on Neal's chest. Well that hurt and abruptly all the noises came back.
"Neal, don't pass out, stay with me."
"What happened?" Neal muttered. His voice was so weak that he scared himself.
"You got shot. The ambulance is on its way. Everything will be alright, I promise."
"I will never take holidays again." Neal forced a grin. Peter fixed his eyes on Neal's.
"I will never give you holidays again." Neal didn't stop smiling, but he felt tired. He closed his eyes.
"Caffrey, no sleeping for you. Stay awake." Peter pressed his hands even harder on Neal's shoulder. Neal cried out in pain. But he felt admittedly sorry for showing his pain when he looked in Peter's eyes again. Neal had never seen tears in the man's eyes.
"So what exactly did I do?" Neal asked hoping that Peter would finally answer him.
"You really didn't do it, did you? Rob the gallery?"
Neal had no idea how Peter had come up with that idea. He slowly shook his head. "Peter, it's getting kind of cold, isn't it?" Neal could hear Peter shouting at Diana asking her where the damn ambulance was. The con wanted to say something to calm his handler down, but before he could do anything, everything got black around him.
/
When Nick woke up he was in a lot of pain. He tried to find a watch but he was barely able to move. The bullet had gone through his shoulder and he disinfected it and patched it up as good as one could patch his own shoulder, but his pain meds were wearingoff. Nick was always prepared, especially when he was completely alone on a job, but the pain meds he bought were not enough, they would only slightly dull his pain. Luckily he had enough antibiotics. At least he wouldn't die because of an infection. Since he could move his arm quiet well considering that there was a hole in his shoulder, he was certain that the bullet didn't hit anything important. Still he needed pain meds.
After a while he found his mobile phone. It was the afternoon. He thought about who he could call. All of his contacts were in Europe. He sighed. He should have stayed in Europe. Just because someone offered him a crazy amount of money he agreed to do a job in New York. Hoven had warned him. Hoven was Nick's best friend although he was about 30 years older. Moreover Hoven was kind of Nick's mentor. A great deal of things Nick had learned from him. The safe house he was currently staying in was also from one of Hoven's contacts.
Nick dialed the number of his temporary landlord. The guy had warned him to call him only if the safe house was in jeopardy, but Nick figured that he had nobody else to call.
"Yes?" A man answered.
"It's me. I need some small help." Nick started uncertain. He was scared that the other man would hang off if it wasn't about the safe house.
"You've only booked a bed. Any other service is not included and cannot be booked afterwards."
Nick guessed that the man might be crazy. But he was Hoven's friend, what did he expect? "Seriously, I just need pain meds. Something heavy. I'm even fine with some drugs from the dealer next door. Well maybe not heroin, but you know what I mean. Just… anything." There was no response. But the man didn't hang up either. "I will pay. Ten thousand dollars." There was muffled laugh on the other line. "Okay, okay. Fifty thousand for some good drugs. In IVs if it's not too much trouble." Nick said.
"I'm sorry. But as I said before my service includes bed only. Have a nice stay in New York." Then the guy hung up.
Nick sighed. He would have to call Hoven. Maybe he could persuade the guy to bring him meds.
/
The next time Nick woke up it was because someone entered house. Nick wasn't feeling well. He was sweating, his sight wasburry. He couldn't move much. Nick wouldn't be able to defend himself from whoever entered the safe house. He could see a short guy standing in the door. He was bald and had big glasses. He looked pretty harmless, Nick knew a lot of dangerous men who looked harmless.
"Neal?" The short guy asked. Nick was confused. Neal was his favourite alias. Did the man know him?
"Do we know each other?" Nick asked. The man came to his bed.
"What the hell happened? I was just in your apartment." Nick was confused. "Okay, how did you do that, mon frère? How did you come here before me and how do you know Hoven?" The bald man said. Nick was now pretty certain that the man was crazy. "This isn't even in your two miles radius. Don't tell me you cracked you anklet."
Nick's head hurt. Well, his shoulder hurt more he really couldn't get one thought straight. This guy apparently knew him under his alias Neal. There was something strange about Neal. A few years back he had been on the most wanted list in the US. Nick saw his face plastered on poster –online of course- with the name Neal Caffrey. He had used the name Neal several times but Caffrey was new to him. Moreover he didn't commit any of the crimes which were listed on the poster. Nick started to think that he had made some enemies who wanted to make his life harder by sending the FBI after him, but Nick didn't care. Nothing more happened so he nearly forgot about the incident.
"I'm sorry do I know you?" Nick asked politely.
The other man smiled. "I have to admit, Neal, your acting skills are extraordinary, but drop it. And tell me what this is all about." Was this never going to end? Nick just wanted his pain meds.
"I'm sorry, but I think you are confusing me with someone else. Can you just give me my medication?" Suddenly the man looked worried.
"You are really hurt?"
"Yes!" Nick nearly shouted.
"Can I see?"
"What...? Yeah, fine." Nick slowly unbuttoned his shirt. The man took some scissors from somewhere and opened the bandage.
"Neal! You got shot!" The little guy screamed.
Nick rolled his eyes. "My name is not Neal. It's Nick. I have never met you." The guy eyed him suspiciously.
"Let me bandage you up again." The guy said. "Have you any Iodine left?" Nick pointed to the bookshelf next to his bed. After the guy was done he carefully looked at Nick's face. Then out of nowhere Nick got pinched in the face. The guy had to be crazy though Nick didn't even care anymore. At least he had an IV with something good in his arm.
"Okay, you are not wearing a mask."
"Of course not!" The man gave him a glass of water. Nick was a bit confused, but he took a sip anyway. After Nick was done, the man took the glass again and walked to a table in the middle of the room and sat down. It took Nick some time until he understood what the man was doing. "Are you checking my fingerprints?" Nick got no answer. Nick tried to stand up, but he as soon as he tried to move he got dizzy.
"Lie down, with those meds you should rest." Nick hated to be so weak. But he had to trust Hoven. Hoven didn't have many friends and if this guy was Hoven's friend that meant he was good. After a while the guy came back to Nick.
"You aren't Neal." The short guy finally recognized.
"I told you so!"
"Do you by any chance have a twin brother?"
"No! I mean not that I know of." What was this all about? Twin brother? Seriously?
"Well, I know a man, my closest friend actually, who happens to look like you. And I don't mean that you look similar, you look identical. I just checked your fingerprints. They aren't the same."
"You are kidding, right? I want proof." The guy thought about it a while.
"He can't come here, you are outside of his radius but we could visit him if you think that you can move around with your injury."
"I can if it's about potential lost family members." Or maybe Hoven's friend is just crazy. Maybe Hoven didn't know he was crazy. In their line of work, people just happen to become crazy sometimes. It's not even their fault.
"But what did you mean by radius? He has a tracking anklet? House arrest?" Nick wanted to know.
"Yeah, he does. He made a deal with the FBI. He is helping them and he serves his sentence with a little more freedom than in prison."
"He is working with the feds?"
"Yeah, I can't believe him either. But I can still trust him. He is a bit confused about what side he is on, but in the end he always sticks by his friends. Wait a second I will call him." The little guy took out a mobile phone. It didn't take long before someone answered on the other line.
"Suit? What are you doing with Neal's phone?" Nick could hear that someone explained something to his new bald friend. He couldn't hear what, but the news didn't seem to be good. "What do you mean by Neal got shot?" /
El was sitting, next to Peter. Trying to comfort him by stroking over his back. Neal was still in surgery. It didn't look good. Both of them were a bit surprised when they saw Mozzie. There weren't surprised that Mozzie came, but it was quiet shocking to see him without a disguise at a hospital were crowds of federal officers were too.
"How's Neal?" He asked Peter. The short guy was pale. He was obviously very worried. Neal was his best friend too.
"It doesn't look good." The agent answered.
El shook her head. "Neal will be fine. He is in good hands."
Mozzie sighed and sat down next to El. "I bet the doctors aren't even trying. They just see the anklet and think they know the whole story. A criminal. He got shot. They probably think it's his own fault and he might be better off dead." Mozzie said.
"Don't say that. They are doctors! They don't think like that." El argued
"Yeah? They are probably taking out his organs for donation right now."
"Mozzie! Shut up!" Peter shouted at him.
"Peter, what exactly happened?"
Peter closed his eyes and started to explain. "We found blood in an art gallery where a Gaugin got stolen yesterday night. The DNA had a match with Neal's. I arrested him. But before I could question him, he got shot by a sniper. You know anything about it?"
Mozzie stood up and started to pace nervously. "It's not Neal's blood." Mozzie said with a certainty that could have nearly convinced Peter.
"I want to believe that it was some kind of a set-up, but it was Neal's blood. And it was a lot of it. DNA doesn't lie. But… Should I let the lab redo the test? I can get it tested somewhere else too, just to be sure…"
"No, no, no. The DNA matches Neal's. It just isn't Neal's." Mozzie tried to make clear.
"What are you talking about? Even relatives don't have a perfect match in DNA tests. Only monozygotic twins can have the same DNA. But Neal doesn't have a twin, he doesn't have any siblings at all." Peter pointed out.
"I have to go." Mozzie said before he vanished in crowd of people.
A twin? No, Peter shook his hade. Two Neal Caffreys? That thought was only too hilarious… and frightening.
/
Thank you for reading, I hope you liked it! I will continue soon.