Lightning flashed across the sky, briefly lighting up the huge skyscrapers that rose to the left and right of him, but none reached his level. He laughed, exhilarated from the raw power in the air as the rain poured down around him. The water crashed all around him, flooding the streets and soaking anyone who dared to venture out during the rainy night. He felt powerful, incredible and awe-inspiring, standing on top of the world. Suddenly alerted to a weight in his hand, he looked down and saw…

A high-pitched version of 'Take Me out to the Ballgame' suddenly pierced the air, frying his morning-sensitive eardrums. A hand shot out from underneath the oh so warm and comfortable blankets as he fumbled around on the nightstand, looking for the small device emitting the deafening sound.

When he finally found it, he picked up the phone without checking the caller ID… There was only one person who would logically be calling him so early in the morning… And there was only one person whose ring-tone was that awful. "Peter." Neal greeted, running his hand over his eyes as he slowly sat up. "What a pleasure to be hearing from you at…" he glanced at the alarm clock next to his bed before groaning. "Seriously? Peter, it's only 4:30 AM."

"There was a piece stolen."

"And I'm sure that it requires us to get to work on finding it right away."

Peter groaned. "Neal, just get your butt down here."

Neal rolled his eyes as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, putting the cell phone on speaker. "Seriously, Peter, what's the big deal about this piece?"

"The artist went missing as well… It's better to get a head start on these things."

"The artist was kidnapped?" He asked incredulously, suddenly much more interested. That was something that didn't happen every day.

"Get down here and you'll find out." Peter said brusquely before hanging up.

"Someone didn't have any coffee yet…" Neal grumbled, pulling on a suit carefully, making sure it didn't wrinkle. After all, just because he didn't get much sleep didn't mean he had to look like it.

"Are we all here?" Peter asked, walking into the conference room with a file in his hands.

Neal peered around, as did everyone else in the room (the whole white collar team, plus a few others who Neal assumed were from the kidnapping/missing persons division).

"Good. Now, we're here today because a very valuable piece has gone missing from the New York Museum of Contemporary Art, and because the artist of the same piece has gone missing as well." Peter began briefing as he slid the case files across the table to everyone.

Neal stifled a yawn as he grabbed his own. It was really too early to be thinking about anything other than sleeping. Actually, it was too early to be thinking about anything at all.

He opened the case file, and suddenly, all his sleepiness was gone.

"The Poker Player, by Sally Jackson, a somewhat grotesque concrete sculpture was stolen about two hours ago from the museum. About five hours earlier, Sally Jackson was reported missing." Peter leaned forward over the table, making eye contact with everyone but Neal, who was too busy attempting to disguise his horror at the situation. "This is no coincidence, people. We have to find Ms. Jackson, and we have to find the statue." Peter held up the picture of the woman, and everyone searched her face for clues which weren't there.

All Neal could do was stare hopelessly at the face of his mother, and hope that whatever had happened to her wasn't too horrible or irreversible.

I know that this chapter is short, I just wanted to end it before the inspiration ran out. This fic won't be too long, probably only three or four chapters or so. I'm not sure what type of response it will get, but it doesn't really matter too much, I'm just writing this to get that darn plot bunny out of my head.

What do you want to happen next?

(I could use the input)

-Marie