Author's note: I've started to write this story quite a while ago, and while I'm not the fastest writer, I can promise that I will update it as often as I can, and I'm definitely going to finish it one day! ;) It's not connected to "Hidden Talents" in any way. Many-many thanks to my wonderful betas, Lady Black-Malfoy (who's actually more than a beta, more like a co-writer :)) and AwesomeQueenoftheLab for their immense help!

Timeline: It's set somewhere between ep. 1x11 (Home Invasion) and the Season 1 finale of White Collar, and some time after ep. 3x15 (Chuck vs. the Role Models) for Chuck. So that means Kate is still alive, however it's slightly AU for Chuck: the events of Chuck vs. the Tooth never happen, the Intersect doesn't start to malfunction, so no hallucinations, and definitely no nightmares about Shaw! ;)

So without further ado:

Peter vs. the Ring

Chapter 1

Special Agent Peter Burke stepped out of the elevator at the 21st floor of the FBI offices and thought, 'Can this day get any worse?'

Not only were they working on a very difficult case in which the team had made no progress, but Garrett Fowler from the bureau's Office of Professional Responsibility had shown up again. Fowler and the rest of the OPR group had immediately taken over the conference room with the apparent goal to bother everyone in sight. On top of all that, Peter had forgotten his wife's birthday present at work. So, he really wasn't in the best mood, considering he had just left the office only to have to turn around halfway home and drive all the way back.

Entering through the glass doors of the White Collar Crime Unit, he didn't even bother turning the lights on. Ambient light from the surrounding buildings filtered into the mostly-glass offices, illuminating the room well enough to see. In New York it was never truly dark, so he figured why waste electricity.

Peter quickly started up the staircase leading to the upper level, but paused abruptly in the middle of it when he noticed something strange. The blinds on the glass wall of the conference room were closed, yet he could still make out some light seeping out from underneath the door. His first thought was that Fowler or one of the other OPR agents were working late; however, he quickly discarded the idea since they probably would have turned on all the lights in the room. Placing a hand on his gun just in case, he silently made his way up the rest of the stairs.

The door to the room was slightly ajar, and Peter snuck over to the adjacent wall, then leaned back against it. Now that he had a semi-clear view into the large room, he could see that the light was coming from one of the laptop monitors on the table. However, that wasn't what startled him the most and caused him to slowly draw his gun. The object of his attention was the black figure who currently had his back to the door Peter was looking into.

Unfortunately for Peter, the figure's face was hidden by a mask, so an ID was impossible. It seemed that the figure was concentrating on the screen and not on the doorway, so, steeling himself, Peter flicked the safety off of his Glock. Mentally counting to three, he kicked the door in and leveled his weapon on the figure.

"FBI! Put your hands behind your head and step away from the table!" Peter sharply demanded, then asked, "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

The man in black didn't respond, but he did step back from the table and turn around. In the dim light it was hard for Peter to make out any distinguishing features.

When the figure didn't move his hands, Peter ordered again, "Hands behind your head or I will do it for you!"

The agent cautiously started in the figure's direction with his gun steady on the man. Suddenly, in a move too quick for Peter to react to, the figure pulled out what looked like a gun of his own and, without any hesitation, pulled the trigger.

The weapon went off with a quiet hiss, and something hit Peter in the neck. The sharp pain distracted him from firing, and black dots quickly filled his vision, followed by a heaviness dragging down his limbs. The Glock slipped from his grasp as his hand went lax, and he felt his legs give out under him. His last conscious thought before everything went completely black was that, strangely, it didn't hurt.

Once sure that the threat was down, the black-clad figure walked over to the fallen agent and checked his pulse. Hesitating over the man for a second before rising, he then strode back to the computer and disconnected a small flash drive.

The figure headed for the door, but then stopped for a second in the doorway. Looking back at Peter, his blue eyes seemed to glow as he said softly, "I'm sorry."

Minutes later, he was down the staircase, through the emergency exit which he had earlier disabled, and into a car. Now alone, he yanked off his mask and pulled out his cell phone, then quickly dialed a number.

"General? It's me. I've copied everything off of the hard drives, but I ran into a small problem. Pe- Agent Burke showed up and saw me. I have no idea why he came back, but I had no other choice – I had to tranq him," the man stated, a note of apology in his voice. He waited until the person on the other end was finished responding before he continued. "I know. But General, I think the best way to solve this situation is to read him in-"

Wincing as he listened to the suddenly angry voice coming through the phone, he explained, "Yes, I know, but if he doesn't get an explanation, he could blow the whole op. Trust me, he isn't going to let it go without getting answers. Besides, I think he could help us a lot. Peter's one of the best, and certainly most trustworthy, agents I've ever met. Plus, he has a lot more access to what we need than I do. I can only hack into the FBI's database so many times before someone discovers it."

As he waited for a reply, the man checked his watch. Peter would be waking up soon, and he had to get out of there before that happened.

"No, I think it's possible without blowing my cover. And if someone with as much authority as you have would give him the explanation, that would help," he reasoned. "Yes. I used the mildest dose. I think he'll be conscious again in about ten minutes." He paused before saying, "Thank you, General."

Sighing, CIA Agent Bryce Larkin, or – as everyone in the FBI's White Collar Crime Unit knew him – conman-turned-consultant Neal Caffrey, shut off his phone before starting his car's engine and peeling away.