Hello fanfiction world! So I've had way too many "plot bunnies" running around in my head, rattling my skull. I already have two Criminal Minds multi-chapters in progress, and I've started working on a Sherlock oneshot (but that one may take a while to come to surface, as I'm working out a lot of kinks), but this idea wouldn't leave me alone. Apologies to my CM readers, I promise I will update those soon though!

So here you go, a new multi-chapter fic for White Collar! My first time dipping my toes into this fandom! (Excited) This will probably be three, possibly four chapters total. Expect them to be short and sweet and full of delectable Neal-whump!

I'm not claiming ownership of White Collar in any way, shape, or form. Not for profit, purely for enjoyment.


"A timid person is frightened before a danger, a coward during the time, and a courageous person afterward." ~ Jean Paul Richter


Neal opened his eyes and was instantly forced to shut them again. What little light that forced its way in past the dust and the blood in his eyes seemed to stab straight through into his already addled brain. He was lying on his side on the hard ground.

Though thoroughly coated in it, there seemed to be more dust in the air than on his body. It made breathing absurdly difficult, but Neal needed to take a deep breath in order to collect his thoughts. This effort only drove him to cough violently, which rattled his aching head and agitated his shoulder which he'd not yet realized had been dislocated.

Neal tried again to open his eyes. He slowly and gingerly pried them open one at a time, first his left, then his right. Forcing open his right eye caused bile to rise to his throat. Sticky blood from a deep gash along his hairline had poured down his face, making his eyelashes adhere to each other. He decided to keep that eye shut, so as not to get more blood into it. Neal raised his right hand to the wound on his forehead and unconsciously flinched when his palm made contact, sending a wave of pain and nausea down his spine.

He took in his surroundings. The amount of dust in the air, combined with the ringing in his ears told him that he'd survived an explosion.

He tried to sit up, but his left arm did not agree with his brain. The movement made dark spots dance in his vision, and he thought he might pass out. It was then that Neal realized that his forearm was pinned beneath the rubble all around him and that his shoulder had slipped out of its natural position. He gritted his teeth and held his breath as he attempted to shift his body upright. He gave up on trying to move and settled with lying on his back as it was better than having his face on the ground.

Neal tried again to retrace his steps, to remember what he had been doing before he'd awoken in this horrible, pain-filled place. He recalled being in the lobby on the ground floor of the FBI building. He'd taken Hannah downstairs to get her out of the offices and show her around.

Before Neal could complete his train of thought, he was yelling, "Hannah! Hannah, where are you?"


I told you it would be short! The draft was written in a mini notebook while in the waiting room in a doctor's office. Typed it up at 2 a.m.

I've always written very dialogue based fics, so this chapter was a real treat/challenge to write without it having a conversation.

I hope you enjoyed the first installment. Any guesses as to who "Hannah" is?

Please review!