A/N: So, I've been in a mood this last week or so.

After years of not doing much of anything Chuck or White Collar-related, I was suddenly hit by a semi of all my old feelings for both shows (as well as many of my other favorite series from the same time). Not only was I super-nostalgic and wanted to rewatch both shows, I had suddenly rediscovered my love for writing fanfic crossing the two universes.

The long-awaited ninth chapter False Faces was the first order of business, but I also dug up the original draft (circa 2013) of this little story and decided I wanted to actually go somewhere with it. It was inspired by an idea I had long bandied about, and, unlike False Faces, I had an expected number of chapters that would help guide my planning. Also unlike False Faces, which I like to think of as my angsty-but-super-fun-to-write psychological drama, Flash Before Your Eyes takes a more comedic (though there is still some drama) approach to the intersection of these two universes. It was a good palate-cleanser after delving back into False Faces Peter and Neal-Bryce.

Most of this chapter was written back in 2013, though I edited it and added the opening just recently. Everything afterwards will be brand new material, and I've already completed the next chapter. I'm planning for this to last for three chapters total, though I will admit that it could continue for an additional chapter or two, but that depends on what happens when I develop and write the third chapter.

Timeline: Luckily, I had left things pretty vague in my original draft, so I could easily adjust the plot to fit wherever I wanted it to in the timeline. To make things easier on myself (as I haven't had the time to do full rewatches yet)—and because I was really interested in doing it this way—the timeline for this story is post-series for both shows. I'm trying to keep it pretty current, which would make it about five years after the end of Chuck, and just over two years since Neal left for White Collar (making it over a year after Peter finds the storage container and the show actually ends). The only AU element that I can think of is the fact that Diana is still with the team, rather than in DC (though I guess she could have moved back in the year between episode's end and this story).

Many thanks to marihun, who's stuck with me after all these years even as we've moved on to other fandoms and I spent too long teasing a "Petersect" story before actually developing it.

Anyways, enjoy this first chapter of Flash Before Your Eyes!

Fast as Lightning

This isn't good.

Peter Burke took one look at the melee of FBI agents and criminals before him and heaved a deep sigh before making his way forward.

All of their intel had suggested that Marcus Holt, the forger behind the White Collar division's latest case, ran his operation with a fairly small group of allies. It had been a surprise to find their hiding place, which was much larger and more heavily fortified than would be expected for such a minor group of thieves.

The confusion didn't end there. By the time Peter and his fellow agents—armed with a warrant—descended upon the compound, they were met by a torrent of criminals in the midst of packing everything up and fleeing. Somehow, they were aware that the FBI was closing in and had begun preparations to clear out; they just didn't start soon enough. What should have been an unexpected raid became a game of "find-the-bad-guys-and-evidence-in-this-huge-empty-compound," and the FBI had a pretty good lead.

Luckily enough, most of Holt's men were collared close to the entrance that the agents had stormed through, but there was still a lot of ground to cover and stragglers and potential evidence to find. So Peter forged on ahead, alerting his team of the zone he planned to cover.

The first hallway he walked along was mostly vacant, save for one room on the left side just before the hall dead-ended. Drawing his weapon, Peter crept closer, taking care not to alert anyone who might be hiding in the room.

Stealth was a good idea, for when Peter had inched close enough to peek around the threshold, he found the team's prime target. Marcus Holt was huddled around something in the center of the room and seemed quite jittery. He had likely been informed of the FBI's presence at his secret base and had hurried to retrieve something. Peter squinted and leaned out a little bit more in the hopes of getting a glimpse of what exactly had captured the forger's attention. Soon enough, he could see the object of interest more clearly.

It's just a computer, Peter realized as he noticed the console in the middle of the room. But why would there be a whole room dedicated to a computer?

Theories about secret government operations and super soldiers filled his mind, and Peter let out a loud sigh. He really had to stop speaking to Mozzie, or at least tune him out whenever he started going on one of his conspiracy rants.

As Holt shifted so he no longer obscured the computer, Peter scrutinized the console in curiosity. The computer itself was fairly old—Peter was pretty sure Roark Instruments stopped producing that model in the late '80s—but the hub to which it was attached was clearly from a later time period. Peter would even go so far as to call it futuristic, once he noticed the eerie blue glow of the cube situated at the center of the hub. Whatever this machine was, it clearly wasn't a shoddy effort.

The FBI agent was drawn out of his thoughts by his target's increased fidgeting. Holt must have been dead-set on trying to secure—or even destroy—any evidence of his ring's activities. However, the computer was plugging along too slow for his liking, which led to increasingly agitated murmurs of "Come on come on come on…" directed at the console.

Peter took advantage of this distraction by stepping out from his hiding place and offering a firm declaration of "FBI, hands in the air!" and a gun leveled at the other man's chest as a greeting.

Holt hastily removed his fingers from the keyboard and lifted his hands, slowly turning to face Peter. Instead of the expected frustration and resentment—or even reluctant submissiveness—of a cornered criminal, though, the man's expression was oddly smug.

"They said using my operation as a front would take the heat off of us all," he told Peter, punctuating the confession with a sharp laugh. "They'd have a smokescreen to hide whatever they're really up to, and they'd let me go about my business as usual but with a little extra… security. Anyone picks up the slightest scent of either of our operations, and not only does it mysteriously disappear, but so do the bodies."

"Who are they?" Peter demanded, motioning brusquely with his gun for Holt to place his hands behind his head. Even if this story was just some attempt for Holt to cover up his dealings, Peter played along to keep him distracted. "What do they want?"

Holt's smirk grew even larger, and he glanced over at the computer just as it emitted a curt beep. Peter jerked his head to see a green progress bar inch its way to 89% capacity, the words Preparing upload flashing above the bar.

"They seemed real interested in this old thing," Holt drawled nonchalantly as Peter moved towards the console. "Not sure what it is, but they were always so careful and protective of it—just like I am of my business. So I figured if they're gonna screw me over, then I should return the favor. I'll let it run, see if it's worth their sloppy mistakes. I doubt it, but even if it is, well, there are some nasty viruses out there these days."

If Peter couldn't find a way to disconnect the computer, he noted the device Holt had hooked up to the computer, presumably armed with a virus poised to attack once the time was right. As much as he hated to listen to Holt, Peter was certain nothing good would come of the bar hitting full capacity.

To top that off, there appeared to be no way to shut down the machine. By that point, Peter's gut was screaming at him to run, get out. So he shot off towards the door—just as the green bar hit 100%

The previously white room exploded in color, and Peter stopped dead in his tracks as thousands of pictures manifested on the walls. The images flickered frenetically like strobe lights, each one flashing so fast that it was near impossible to get a good glimpse.

Peter had no idea what was going on or what these pictures even meant, but he just couldn't turn away. He felt his eyes dart back and forth in their sockets as they fought to memorize every image, but otherwise he was completely paralyzed. All he could focus on were the pictures—Flower. Pie. Computer codes. Foreign dignitaries. Assassins. Pineapple.

In fact, Peter was so engrossed by the hypnotic images that he didn't even register Holt's terrified screams as he writhed in pain, seizing as his eyes darted about deliriously.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, the images winked out in a burst of light and the white walls returned. The sudden change startled Peter, causing him to jolt forward and fall to his knees with a gasp. Clutching his head, he blinked a few times to clear his vision. Afterimages of meaningless scenes flashed before his eyes, but he managed to squint past them just enough to make out the shape of the hub a few feet away. From Peter's vantage point, he could see the once-vibrant blue cube spinning at an unusually fast pace, as if the computer was overheating—Holt's virus must have kicked in. Wheezing out a few shocked breaths, Peter clumsily dragged himself across the floor towards the computer and somehow forced himself into a semi-functional position on spaghetti-like legs in front of the screen.

While the progress bar and subsequent images had disappeared, the screen still displayed a single message—albeit a flickering one. Focusing his eyes on anything still gave Peter a massive headache, but he managed to get past the pain long enough to read the text before it completely sputtered out: Intersect Upload Complete.

"I-Intersect upload?" Peter stammered as he jerked up and attempted to back away from the now-smoking console. A tingling wave of fear crept towards his heart. "What's that supposed to mean?"

That was an answer that would have to wait until later. As soon as Peter was completely upright once more, the vertigo hit.

Dammit, Mozzie, one of your crazy conspiracies just had to be real, was Peter's last coherent thought before he felt his eyes roll back and his body topple towards the floor.

. . .

"Boss… Bosssssss… Peeeeee-terrrrrr…"

"Wha'?" the barely conscious man managed to mumble, his tongue too heavy to articulate the full word. He forced his eyes open to a blurry image of two people—a familiar-looking woman and man—hovering over him. The woman's mouth moved slowly as if enunciating each syllable.

"Peeeeeee-terrrrrrrr Burrrrrrrrkkkkkkke…"

Huh. That name sounded familiar. The lethargic man tried to push through the foggy haze in his mind to remember where he'd heard it before. He could already feel it triggering his memory…

Oh. Right. It was his name. Peter Burke. It was time to wake up.

With a groan, Peter squeezed his eyes shut before opening them once more. Everything was still spinning at first sight, but it only took a moment before Peter could recognize Diana and Jones without getting motion sickness.

"Boss? Peter, are you alright?" Diana asked, her voice laced with worry. Peter grunted out an indistinguishable response as he struggled to sit upright; when that failed, Diana placed an arm around his shoulders and slowly eased him up.

It took another moment for Peter to unscramble his mind enough to form semi-coherent sentences, but he got there. "I… I think so," he finally managed to mumble, still disoriented. "What happened?"

Jones spoke up this time. "We were hoping you could tell us. We finished the sweep of our area of the compound and ended up in what must have been a war-room of sorts—it was stocked with all these high-tech screens and weaponry, like the ultimate evil villain lair." Diana cut him off with a "Not relevant, geek out later and get to the point" glare, and Jones promptly cleared his throat. "Anyways, by the time we got there, some of the escaped criminals had already cleared it out—took an armload of weapons and anything that could have told us their plans with them. But just when we were going to canvass the next sector, we heard someone scream. While it didn't sound like you, we realized it was coming from the wing you were patrolling and ran all the way here. By the time we got here, you were lying unconscious next to the computer hub and Marcus Holt…"

Jones trailed off with a horrified shudder and risked a glance at something over Peter's shoulder. Craning his neck to follow Jones's line of sight, Peter sucked in a stunned breath at the sight that awaited him.

Holt was sprawled in the middle of the floor, arms and legs akimbo. Blank eyes stared up at the stark white ceiling, forever widened to accompany an expression of primal terror.

Having seen enough, Peter tore his eyes away as soon as he could. Though the answer was clear, he still choked out the question. "Is… is he…?"

Jones spared him the horror of continuing with a grim nod.

Diana still held a firm grip on Peter's shoulder, though Peter could feel a waver of fear course through it. "While I hate to ask this when you're still recovering, we need to know," she said, voice ghosting over the words. "Boss, what the hell happened?"

What the hell happened? That wasn't a question Peter could answer without earning a one-way ticket to a mandatory psych eval (though at this point, it seemed inevitable either way). The computer hub ran a program that had random images flashing on the walls so fast that they literally fried a man's brain—yeah, like that wasn't something straight out of a sci-fi horror flick. So instead of sharing his hallucination-like experience with the two junior agents, Peter opted for a heavily redacted report on the incident. "Holt… he was trying to destroy some information from the computer—said it was some project from another group using him as a front. I stepped in to try and stop him but… I must have blacked out. Next thing I know, I'm waking up to you two hovering over me."

Diana and Jones seemed to buy the lie, and they shared a worried glance over the senior agent's wellbeing. What had really happened in here, and why couldn't their boss remember?

After a few moments of silence, Diana stood up and stepped over to the console to examine it. She frowned at the screen as she tapped a few keys, clearly unable to find anything useful. The frown deepened upon a glance at Holt's device and then the cube encased in the hub, now blackened and completely still.

"Looks like Holt succeeded in destroying his evidence," she remarked, eyeing the cube in curiosity. "Whatever virus he unleashed here sure did its job."

Peter nodded in understanding, wincing as he rubbed at his screaming temples. "We'll have the guys in Cyber Crimes scrub it for any remaining information once we get it back to the bureau."

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that," a new voice rang out, heralding the sound of

safeties clicking off multiple guns. The FBI agents turned towards the doorway just in time to see seven armed men place them in their crosshairs.

The man at the head of the group grinned maliciously at his prey, sending a chill down Peter's back. He took a few steps forward, not lowering his gun the slightest.

"Well, agents, I have to admit I'm impressed—tracking down any faction of our organization isn't an easy feat. However, I do believe you are deeply, tragically in over your heads. But perhaps we can strike a deal—tell us what you did to the Intersect, and we'll let you go unharmed." There was a slight pause, and then he smirked again. "Hm, I don't think I need to tell you what'll happen if you keep mum."

When the man—clearly the leader of the band—mentioned the word "Intersect," Peter's ears perked up. There it was again. He could speak up, but he was fairly certain this group would not follow up on their promise.

"The Intersect?" Diana repeated, raising an eyebrow at this bit of information. "If that's whatever was on your computer here, then you'd be better off questioning your benefactor." She jerked her head towards the man in question, still spread-eagle on the ground. "Though I don't know how much you'd be able to get out of him."

"You'd be surprised," the ringleader replied, his nonchalance chilling. "Though I reckon he's not the only one from whom I could obtain the information." He scanned all three agents' faces, looking for any telltale signs. "No takers?" he wondered aloud. "Pity. I do wish you could have gone out in a more honorable way, but we have bigger agencies to topple." At that, he shifted his weapon towards Jones and inched his finger towards the trigger.

That motion was a trigger in itself. Just as the leader prepared to shoot, Peter's eyes rolled back, and a kaleidoscope of colors exploded in his field of vision. Computer code transformed into illustrations of fighting styles and Chinese characters, and suddenly Peter knew what he had to do. So in the split second before Jones's life could be cut short, Peter's eyes snapped open and he sprang into action.

Naturally, the first step was taking out the ringleader. A well-aimed kick to the hand knocked the gun out of the equation and sent him staggering back in surprise. A few more punches and a methodical chop to the base of neck later, and he was out for the count.

The remaining six didn't stand a chance. Chops and swings, kicks and leg-sweeps, one by one the ring members were felled by Peter's newfound hand-to-gun combat skills. Fighting back wasn't an option—Peter was able to quash any threat the moment an adversary made a move.

Seven down, none to go. The adrenaline high and whatever else had driven Peter's action-movie sequence immediately began to peter out, leaving the FBI agent in a defensive stance and breathing heavily. He stiffened as he glanced from his balled fists to the unconscious forms of the ring members and pieced two and two together, no matter how improbable it seemed. The best Peter could do to calm himself came in the form of a mantra he was already having difficulty following:

"Don't freak out."

. . .

Meanwhile, Jones and Diana shared a look of incredulity as they gawked at their boss, who was frozen in place looking just as stunned as they felt.

"You mind explaining to me what just happened?" Diana demanded, turning to Jones.

Jones didn't blink. "I don't know, but last time I checked, Peter Burke did not know kung-fu."

. . .

A/N: Fun fact: this chapter was originally supposed to be called "Flash Before Your Eyes," but when I was at a loss for the title of the actual fic, I decided to make the switch. It took a little while to rename the chapter—as I was searching for an equally funny title—but then I thought about how it closes out with a bit of kung-fu fighting, and, well… I take the full blame for putting that song in your heads. (I've long ago accepted the fact that I am basically a walking dad-joke in the body of a twenty-something-year-old woman.)

Next time, a certain frequently dead man drops in—literally. (I had too much fun with the idea of Bryce Larkin falling out of an air vent.) The chapter is complete, save some minor edits, but I'm going to wait a little bit to post until I get the third chapter going. Either that, or it'll be out next week.

Until then!

AQotL