A/N: Hey, everybody! So, I was going to wait until I at least had this somewhat finished, but… I'm not. Which is most likely a foolish decision, but who cares? It's the internet. : ) Anyway, I figured I'd post because it has been FAR too long since I put up any White Collar fic, and the last three have had such wonderful responses… Anywho. I should stop gabbering. Yes, this is hurt/comfort. Duh. :] Be forewarned: disturbing images lie in wait.
Have fun!
It's dark. Neal isn't able to tell if its just pitch-black or if he's actually blind, and that terrifies him. It's dark, and cold, and silent, and he's in pain and scared. He really wishes he weren't here right now, wishes the last two hours had never happened. No, scratch that: he wishes the past week had never happened. He groans, praying for help. He hasn't seen Peter in hours-doesn't even know if he's alive anymore. And that scares him even more than the dark.
From the endless abyss of nothing around him echoes a pounding, that of soles on a hard surface. Neal's pulse picks up, and he scoots away, frantically; desperately. He scrabbles on his hands and knees to find somewhere-anywhere-to hide from the nightmare he knows is coming, but there's nothing, and when the hands find him, there is no blockage from their pull.
He gasps and tries to pull away, but any vestiges of strength he had left are now drained completely, and Neal simply gives up, falling limp and lifeless as he's pulled away, to what he now can only hope is freedom or death.
7:32 AM, December 20th, 2010
Peter rolls over, groaning at the incessant ringing pounding through his head. A hand flails out to catch the alarm clock where the snooze button is, and he sighs in relief when the loud sound ceases. Opening his eyes, Peter instinctually reaches over the Elizabeth's side of the bed, but he hand falls on empty air. Peter's halfway out of bed before he hears the shower running.
The FBI agent sighs again, mentally face palming. He really has to loosen up. Peter snorts, practically hearing Neal's voice in his head.
"I spend entirely too much time with that man," comes the muttered utterance.
Peter reaches the bureau half an hour later, after a home-cooked breakfast of an omelet and hash browns, and, of course, a goodbye kiss. The traffic was minimal for once, and he's actually in a great mood. His only regret is that the coffee wasn't done before he left. The mostly-glass building before him gleams almost blindingly in the sunlight, and Peter hurries inside, taking the elevator to his department, briefcase clutched tightly in his fist.
The doors open to reveal none other than Neal Caffrey, suit impeccably tailored, fedora on his head, beaming smile on his face.
"Hey, Peter."
The agent sighs witheringly, but there's a ghost of a smile on his face as he pushes past Neal.
"Have you been standing there all morning?"
"Oh, not even a hello? I'm hurt," Neal pouts. "I even had this all ready for you." He holds out a familiar-looking paper cup, capped and smelling wonderful.
Peter's brow creases, and he sniffs the coffee, taking a cautious sip before tilting the cup back further. This is definitely not office coffee.
"Thanks."
"No problem." The two start up again, walking towards Peter's office. "Oh, and to answer your question, no. You're too predictable, Peter."
"Predictable? I am not."
The protest comes while Peter's opening the door, and he halts while he speaks. Before he can finish, Neal has deftly slipped around him, plucked his briefcase from his hand, and set it precisely where Peter would've. The Suit sighs.
"Fine. How am I predictable?"
Neal grins. "Okay, I'll admit, it has some to do with my incredible powers of deduction. You can see your parking place from here."
He stops, and Peter slumps. So he wasn't making it easy for him. "And that helps because…"
"You turned it at exactly 7:55, straight in. You didn't screech, or swerve, or rush in late… You only needed one try, and that's tricky parallel parking. You were in exactly on time, and your walk was very brisk and bouncy."
"Bouncy?"
Neal rolls his eyes. "You asked. Anyway," he pulls away from Peter's desk, taking a brown-ish folder with him. "We've got a case."
"How do you know this before me? Why were you here so early, anyway?" Peter queries as they both step out of the office, walking side by side towards the meeting room where Jones is already waiting.
"Alarm went off at the wrong time and I couldn't get back to sleep."
Peter nods, accepting the answer, and pushes open the meeting room door, striding in and allowing Neal passage to follow him. The pair continues to the head of the table and Neal drops the file on the table within easy reach of Peter, who snatches it up and begins flipping through it.
"Morning, Jones," Neal greets easily, and the addressee returns the genial greeting. "So, this guy's a real nut job, huh?"
Jones nods. "Yeah. I mean, we get some weird cases, but this one…" He shakes his barren head. "Some people I just don't understand."
"And that," Neal starts, sitting down and propping his feet up on the table, "is why you have me." There's that cheeky smile again. Jones rolls his eyes.
"So explain him to me then. Why would he go around stealing pictures from private galleries, taking the time and effort of methodically and practically surgically destroying them, then delivering them to some random, middle class family's home? What could possibly be the objective here?"
Neal leans back, shutting his eyes, a small crease appearing between his brows. "Different reasons. It could be he's just a fake, hired by someone to carry out the crimes for a sum of money. Or," and now Neal leans forward again, a hard glint coming into his eyes. "Maybe its something completely different. I mean, he could've had some bad experience with artists or art, and is taking it out now."
"Okay, sure, but why the delivery to a family?"
Neal pauses a moment before speaking again, thoughtfully. "Either its simply to cause public, or perhaps bureaucratic, confusion, or…" He straightens a bit. "A warning."
Peter glances up from the file, frowning. "A warning? You think he knew the people previously? Wouldn't he stick to the more high-class elites of the society?"
Neal shakes his head. "It depends. Besides, he may not have a personal bond. If it is a warning, maybe he's picking random people to terrorize the city. Otherwise, they aren't completely random, yet he doesn't know them… he may be working towards something higher." Neal trails off, suddenly grabbing the file from a surprised Peter and flipping through it. "I need a map."
Bewildered, Peter gestures to Jones, who hurries into the main part of their floor to search. Peter leans over Neal's shoulder, squinting at the page, which shows all the info on the families their perp has delivered the paintings to.
"What? You think they all have some common… placement bond?"
Neal is frowning, closing his eyes briefly and picturing the New York area. "I think there's a pattern."
Its then that Jones come in, map of the city in his hand. "We apparently have one on hand." He sets it on the table in front of Neal, who spreads it out next to the file.
"Pen," Neal says shortly, holding out his hand while his gaze stays fixated on the two papers. Rolling his eyes, Peter hands the writing utensil over, watching closely while the ex-con starts marking the map, eyes turning from the information to the city and back again. His hand is moving with swift movements, quickly creating an inky design. And soon, a picture forms. Peter and Jones' eyes widen simultaneously as the clear beginning to a pentagram comes into view. Neal leans back, brow furrowed deeply now.
"Looks like this guy may be nuttier than we first thought."
.
In the deep darkness sits a man. He's fair-skinned, of average height, and medium weight, maybe a bit lanky. Its there that similarity to most others of the human species end. Arachnodactyly assaults the hands of the figure, sending the fingers shooting off into almost endless length, spidery things and infinitely fragile. Horrid disfigurement has been brought about over exactly half his exposed skin, caused by some hitherto unknown source. It looks like a mix between a burn and the plague, and would give any sane person nightmares if they were to be so unfortunate as to see it.
His hair, at least what's left of it on the non-marred side, is an ash color, wispy and split. The lips that have rarely spun any sort of kind etymology since he left the womb are a sickly greenish-yellow, and the narrow slit in his throat letting in a thin tube only adds to the illusion that he's already dead.
"Marcus."
His breath becomes a white cloud. He likes the chamber cold. From somewhere in the distance, a scuttling sounds starts up, and the man smiles. He can tell Marcus is nervous simply from the way he's walking. What a weak man.
"Yes, sir."
"I need you to fetch something for me." His voice is like a frozen snake, all smooth evil. But somehow, the words still manage to seem childish. "Its vital that you complete this request with the utmost efficiency and haste. I'm quite desperate for a new game. I'm growing bored with my current one."
"Yes sir, of course sir. Which do you desire? How shall I fetch it?"
"This one is quite the interesting puzzle. Gone from yin to yang, war to peace, dark to light. And grown bonds, I might add, not at all the hatred you'd expect."
"Sounds intriguing, sir."
"Oh, very, Marcus. You'll find it trying to play something other than it is at the bureau. Shiny place, that. It's where he's right now attempting to solve my own little puzzle I've set up. Isn't that funny, a puzzle solving a puzzle? Who would've thought. Anyway, now, it is, of course, a treasured game, and will be well protected. So perhaps you should go instead to its unrightful owner? Yes. That will work."
"Yes sir."
"It goes by the name of Neal Caffrey, but we all know that's not accurate. I think, a more fitting and true name, would be Clue. He uses many of those, and I'll need them to figure him out. What a fun game! Now leave me, Marcus. Bring me back my Clue within the day."
"Yes sir. Of course, sir."
Marcus hurries off, and the man smiles to himself. What fun. This will be the best game yet.
..
A/N: Intriguing, I hope? Reviews are the heart to my break. All love.