Greetings my friends! Yes at long last I'm returning to White Collar. This time my fic will be a bit different than the last. It will be in the perspective of my OC, Felicity Caidmen. It's also in the very beginning of Season 3 (which for the purpose of this fanfiction is around September) . He has the treasure and all that junk. If you don't know about Felicity, you should read my story Miniaturized.
For those who have read Miniaturized and are going, "Yeah, Yeah. Just start the story…" This is for you. Felicity's theme song is "I Just Wanna Run" by The Downtown Fiction. It's perfect for her. That's the song she is listening to in this chapter! You should listen to it as you read. Enjoy!
I plopped down at a bench in Central Park, the newest version of the Ipod in hand, listening to my new favorite song. It was really catchy and like all artists, I love music that makes me think and reflects my life. This one did, it was kind of scary how much it could. I got jolted out of my thoughts when I saw a man walk past me nonchalantly. He was dressed in a tailored suit and a fedora. That was what caught my eye.
"Neal," I called as he passed by. He stopped in his track, looking a little guilty.
"Felicity! What a surprise," he tried to pull the innocent card, so predictable.
"Caffrey, sit. This is the third time I've seen you pass me."
He sat, showing signs of agitation. I realized how bossy I can be sometimes. People like Caffrey and me don't take orders. It doesn't help I'm fifteen. A regular thirty something guy doesn't take orders from a teen.
"What are you up to?" Neal Caffrey asked. He was a con man, maybe he still is. He's working with the feds to solve cases right now. Neal has to wear a tracking anklet, but cons don't like to be restrained. I've heard whispers of a certain treasure he may or may not have acquired. Maybe he'll run. Hopefully, by the end of this little meeting I'll find out.
"You know, laying low. I've been taking a break from the job since our escapade a couple months ago," I replied. The escapade included catching a seriously bad criminal (and considering my sense of morals, that's extremely evil), recovering a million dollar bracelet and me almost getting caught and being put in foster care.
"You're not up to anything? No plotting?" the blue eyed con asked suspiciously.
"Please, Neal. Can't a girl yearn for normality?" I said, trying to sell the lie. If I yearned for normality, I would turn myself in. I was having a blast being independent. Normal is an antonym for me and something I will never yearn for.
Neal knew me too well, he laughed, "Since when have you ever 'yearned for normality'? If you did, I'm sure you wouldn't be using that kind of talk. You've changed in the last couple of months."
He was right, I had. I'd grown up considerably. Instead of the Nike/Athletic look (which I rocked, in case you're wondering) I was wearing things more professional and classy. At the moment I was going for a more casual look than lately. Designer jeans and a navy quarter length sleeved white top. Now, for me that's like crazy dressed up for casual. I was also wearing a white fedora with a black ribbon around it. Ever since I've trusted Neal , I had just felt the need to be more professional. That included my speech. I shuddered at the memory of saying "Well, duh" every opportunity I had. I think I'm in my late twenties in a fifteen year old's body now.
"Oh, fine. I'll tell you what I'm planning. But first we've got to make something clear. Stop following me, or 'checking up on me'. Got it?" I tried to sound as annoyed as possible. Frankly, I wasn't as half as annoyed as I sounded. At least I had someone who's looking out for me. It was irritating though. I don't need someone babysitting me. I've been alone for almost 3 years now.
"Listen Caidmen, if something happened to you… I'd be guilty."
"Yeah? Well, don't be," I say huffily.
"But what if you get in trouble?" He said it as if he were my dad or something.
"Oh, no! She's sitting on a park bench listening to her Ipod!" I said sarcastically.
"Alright, I'll lay off. So, what's this plan?"
I got really excited, being alone can sometimes get, well… lonely. I can finally tell someone my wicked cool heist plan. Apparently, I got too excited and didn't know where to start so I started my explanation with the lamest part, "I'm going back to school!"
He looked really surprised and confused, "That's what you're plotting? School?" Neal said it skeptically.
"Not any school," I said, recovering, "Fiorella H. LaGuardia High School of Music of Music and Arts and Performing Arts."
"That's a mouthful," he noted.
"Yes, let's just call it LaGuardia. It's what's at the school that I care about. Ever heard of Paul Désiré Trouillebert?" I asked Neal. Knowing him, he's more than heard of him. He's probably stolen some of his pieces for all I know.
"Trouillebert? Wasn't he a forger?"
"Very good, Neal. He was a Barbizon painter ,but he also was a copyist and imitator of Corot. When he was first exposed to Corot's work, Trouillebert took a very keen interest in it and immersed himself in emulating his techniques. He was so similar to Corot that if his signatures were erased and Corots forged added, enormous value was added to the work. The Corot fakes issue was compounded by Camile Corot himself, as he signed many reproduced works by other artists when asked simply because he felt honored to be copied," Most people don't know this, but I have a photographic memory, pretty useful in situations like these. I can recite things when I see them on the internet or books.
Neal looked impressed, "Someone did their homework."
I nodded and continued, "Well, his piece, Landscape is going to have a private viewing. Can you believe it, Caffrey? At a school! It's just screaming my name, 'Felicity! Come steal me!'".
"It sounds pretty hard to get into," Neal said doubtfully.
"Oh, I'm already accepted. There's just one thing left," I say, batting my eyelashes.
Caffrey didn't like that, "What?" he asked in a tone of suspicion.
"Parent and Student meeting with the principal," I said hopefully.
"You need me?"
"Yes, you. I can't believe I'm saying this, please?"
If I could be in his thought process this is what he'd be thinking, "What about Peter? How would I get away? Would this benefit me? She's my friend, I could do it just to help her out… But what about Peter? Once the painting is stolen we'll probably be on the case and I'd be a part of it, which means I'd be a part of it…" Basically, a good FBI consultant versus the bad con man battle.
Thankfully, the rebellious streak in him was still alive and kicking. Caffrey did his famous million dollar smile, "What do I need to do?"
"Sweet," in my excitement , I forgot talking older, "I've got all the papers ready all you have to do is act like a loving father who just wants the best for his protégé of a daughter."
"Protégé? Isn't that stretching it a bit?" Neal said teasingly.
"Shut up, Caffrey. All you have to do is meet me at LaGuardia at 9 for the meeting. Think you can handle that?" I raised my eyebrows at him.
"How am I supposed to get off my anklet?" A genuine question from the con who thinks he's one of the greats.
"Oh, come on, Caffrey. Impress me, I know you can do it. How are you going to escape with that hefty sum of treasure? Make this your practice round," I tried to cut all the curiosity out of my speech that was in my head.
"How do you know about that?" Neal looked scared, glancing around nervously.
"You keep tabs on me, I keep tabs on you," I reasoned, "You won't tell the FBI about my plans, I won't tell them yours, deal?"
He relaxed, just a bit, "Alright, Caidmen. You've got a deal."
I smiled in victory. Felicity Caidmen, fifteen year old millionaire, genius, and criminal mastermind was back.
A/N: Hey! Review! That means you, yeah you! I see you leaving this story without writing a quick feedback! Don't do it. Peter will knock on your door. He'll travel all the way to wherever you are and tell you to go write a review RIGHT NOW. Listen to special agent Peter Burke and Cartega. I have that effect on people. SERIOUSLY, JUST WRITE ONE. ~Cartega