A/N: Hi. Welcome reader, TO MY SANCTUARY. lolwatnojk. Reading and reviewing / following is highly appreciative; + = SUPER MOTIVATION TO WRITE MORE ;_;… and since this is the first installment, I want to see who wants to read this.
Summary: Vincent Van Gogh's original painting Irises is being moved from California to New York, into a museum nearby. Knowingly, Peter cautiously keeps his eyes on Neal, who can't seem to resist any fine piece of art. When Neal finally convinces Peter to let him at least see the painting with him, things take a turn for the worse, and they quickly realize… oh. SPOILERS! Go read.
WILL CONTAIN Neal-whump… AND CARING, LOVING, PEOPLE WHO LOVES AND TAKE CARES OF NEAL.
Irises
Chapter 1
"Come on Peter!"
"No Neal."
"I have my anklet. You'll know where I am at all times. I promise."
"No Neal."
A nationwide notice had been released a week ago that the art piece Irises, painted by Vincent Van Gogh, would be transferred from California, right into New York, and no one in the office had been anymore excited by this news than Neal Caffrey. The second the news was whispered into the con-man's ear, he could no longer contain himself.
He just had to see the damn painting up close, at least once… more.
Though, Peter Burke stayed adamant on his decision ever since Neal had brought up the idea. The charming con had been working silently on cases without the sly smiles and cunning charisma that everyone but Peter seemed to love. He had to admit, Neal should be rewarded, but the idea of putting a world renowned art thief in front of a 100 million dollar painting just didn't seem right.
So Neal fell back on consistent begging and whining.
The blue-eyed con strode in front of the suit and spun around as quickly as he did. He faced Peter and put a palm on the taller man. "At least come with me." Neal offered, huffing out his last resort.
Peter looked around with little thought before locking eyes with Neal. "Will you behave?"
"What? Of course!"
"Fine," Peter sighed, "we'll go next weekend."
"Next weekend?" Neal tilted his head and grinned a cat-like smile.
"What did you do…?"
He lifted two slips of paper out of his inner pocket, handing one to Peter. "I made reservations. I was thinking we could go today."
"Today? As in the debut?"
"That's right."
Peter groaned, but Neal smiled. He had fallen right into the con-man's con.
-INSERT WHITE COLLAR THEME MUSIC-
Work at the bureau had been short and tedious, just how Neal had anticipated. Surprisingly, there still were no cases for the White Collar Division, so the members were left to filing, paperwork, and some, even coffee duty. Peter and Neal left the building and strode a for a few blocks, with the con-man, half jogging from excitement.
A small crowd outside the museum told them they were in the right place, and Neal grinned with apprehension. A small, guarded truck had parked outside the building and security was working their way inside and around. One made a motion, and others opened the steel storage truck and hopped inside.
Peter glanced down at Neal's face, not questioning the glow that radiated. He grown to instantly register the admiration in the criminal's eyes whenever something caught his attention, and it was this particular trance that could make Neal Caffrey a crafty man.
"Neal?" Peter called out shortly amongst the crowd. He repeated himself with a bit more authority when Neal didn't respond or even turn his head. Peter nearly yelled, but the con-man still didn't take notice. He gently patted the shorter man's shoulder, and it was this action that brought back Neal's attention.
"What's gotten into you?" Peter asked concisely.
"Just, great piece of art." Neal shrugged a reply with eagerness pooling into his shoes.
"You're getting too excited."
Blue eyes gazed around and he chewed his lower lip unsteadily for a second. Licking his lips, Neal looked up to Burke. "Okay, I was never going to say this, but Van Gogh's painting Irises… I stole it years ago."
"You what?-"
"Then I lost it."
"Lost it?" Peter rose an eyebrow, repeating in a more firm manner, "lost it. Lost it…" he nodded a few times.
"It wasn't hard to steal. I was in L.A., security was loose at Getty's, and alarm systems were easy to disengage. I couldn't resist." Neal spoke honestly with ease. "I needed a place to put the painting after taking it, so I left it at an abandoned warehouse. But when I came back to get it, it was gone."
"Then what happened?"
"We-"
"You and Mozzie?"
"Yeah. Well, we couldn't delay our trip any longer without getting caught so we boarded our scheduled flight and came back to New York." Neal finished. "I wanted to see if this was the real deal. I won't steal it. It's here in New York now. I'll be able to see it as much as I want, right?"
"We'll see…" Peter mumbled. Even though Neal had proven to be able to change for other people, he just wasn't sure if the change was just a mask to help himself or if the change was Neal truly caring. He couldn't help but to notice the glints in the con-man's eyes, and Peter's instincts were just telling him that Neal was going to somehow steal the painting again.
Peter still had troubles believing people could change for others. He just wanted to see Neal prove him wrong.
They watched as the painting was moved from the shielded car into the museum. Four long minutes floated by as Neal swung from side to side on the toes of his dress shoes as he tried to watch overhead at the subtle movements. Peter and Neal shifted as the small crowd formed into a line, and they squeezed amongst the others. The line moved steadily, and Neal flashed a white smile as he handed his slip of paper to the ticket holder. Peter did so accordingly, and he gave Neal a questionable look as he saw the way the con-man slyly handed the slip with something more than confidence.
Peter could see the little bits of pride on Neal's face and asked as they moved away from security guards. "Where exactly did you get these tickets?"
"Made them." Neal replied confidently as he adjusted his tie, snaking his way through the lot of people. "Not so bad if I say so myself."
Peter gritted his teeth as he was close to say something, but he bit back his words knowing that anything he'd say would have been disregarded. Besides, they were already in it this far, how could anything go wrong? They were simply going to see the painting, let Neal give his two cents, then leave.
A sudden crowd of people bumped and snaked around Peter, but he continued to stand in front of the picture, staring blankly at the painting. He could barely make out the flowers, but from Neal's chattering days ago, the irises were the purple-blue against a deep colored background.
"I guess it isn't so bad…" Peter spoke softly to himself as he turned to face the con-man, but Neal was no where in sight. Frustrated, he openly groaned "Where'd he…?!"
He quickly spun around and a short, stubby man timidly bumped into him. They both took a step back and Peter heard a quick, muttered apology. Looking down to see pass the hat that covered the little head, he instantly recognized the familiar face and nose shape, along with the glasses that sat snuggly on the bridge of the shorter man's nose.
"Mozzie?" Peter called.
Mozzie looked up and chuckled. "Oh, it's only you Agent. Where's Neal? He said to meet him here."
"Gone, again." Peter huffed. "I don't know what he's up to, but I don't like it."
"He's not up to anything." Mozzie responded lazily.
"Really Mozzie?"
"He tells me everything. He just wanted to look this time, I swear."
"Didn't he steal this painting before?"
"Oh-," the stumpy man winced, pulling back a bit for emphasis. "He told you? Why don't you check your GPS thing? He's probably just wandering around."
"Yeah, 'round back." Peter scoffed as he checked his phone before Mozzie even mentioned it. "Come on."
"But I didn't even see the painting yet."
"You'll have time. Let's go."
-SCENE CHANGE!
Neal tried to keep close to Peter as they approached the painting. Though, a crowd of people slipped between them, and Neal tried to gently push the people that wormed through left and right. Eventually, he had to back away, and stand outside the ring of people, waiting his turn.
"Caffrey." A voice hissed into his ear.
He contemplated on turning around, but a familiar feel of a metallic barrel resting against the base of his spine told him otherwise.
"Come with me."
Neal made no sudden movements, nor did he protest. He was unable to register who was speaking to him, so he didn't know if the man was dangerous. As they passed by windows and vases, Neal tried to put together a face through broken reflections. He could barely make out the head of brown, cropped hair, with a long, thin jaw line, but he knew this man was no one he knew.
The gun nudged at him, and the feeling of the weapon being able to sever his spine made him stiff.
"Turn left here."
"So, who are you exactly?" Neal dared to whisper, casually trying to peer over his shoulder.
"Face front or I'll shoot."
The con-man complied.
They made it outside, and the same steel storage truck used to move the painting was waiting outside. The back of the truck opened, and ski-masked men stood inside. One grabbed Neal, and another tossed a ski-mask to the brown haired man, who put it on with haste.
"What's going on?" Neal asked, taking an uneven breath through his nose.
"Ankle."
Neal glared at them. They knew who he was, but he didn't know any of them. Without bending down, he grabbed a bit of his pants around his thigh and pulled up. He watched as their eyes gave out a look of confusion. Something wasn't going according to plan.
"So the FBI upgraded your tracker?" One asked as they realized scissors weren't going to snip the anklet off.
"What do we do Boss?"
The tallest one shrugged easily, while pointing to the inside of the steel storage truck. "Break it."
-LIMITED COMMERCIAL BREAK.- "WHITE COLLAR WAS PRESENTED TO YOU BY… FAN FICTION! NUMBER ONE SOURCE FOR INTERNET FAN FICTION!" SAID THE MASCULINE ANNOUNCER DUDE. "NOW, WE RETURN YOU TO YOUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED PROGRAMMING."
Mozzie trailed behind Peter with little trouble. "I think you should slow down, really, I'm not cut out for this kind of running. I'm more of a sit-at-home kind of guy…"
"Well hang in there Mozzie." Peter replied sarcastically, playing with the idea that he may be stalling for Neal.
They traced the building out to the back, and Peter scanned the area questionably. He checked his phone with confusion, and to his surprise, the tracker signal had died. His phone lit on an incoming call and he answered it, turning to face Mozzie with a puzzled expression.
"Jones?" Peter asked as he checked the caller I.D.
"Burke, Neal took off his anklet."
"I know." Peter responded.
Mozzie watched as the Agent muttered on his cellphone too fast for him to comprehend. He was always good at reading people, so he knew Peter was flustering from distress, most likely over Neal. He also knew that Neal wouldn't have run off without telling him, so it only left one option.
He searched around, keeping an eye on every rock and every spec of dirt. He bent over to pick up a chunk of plastic with inner wiring and turned it in all angles. It most likely would have formed a ring if all the pieces were intact, and he instantly remembered what it was.
The little imaginative spy jogged towards the Agent and held the piece of plastic in front of his face. "Look." Mozzie mouthed, eyebrows raised.
It took Peter less than a second to register what it was, and he grabbed the piece of plastic from Mozzie's hand. "Where did you find this?"
Mozzie pointed. "There, near the edge of the street. Do you think…?"
Peter looked over to the road and the pieces fell right into place. Still with his phone pressed to his ear, he spoke in a low, solid tone. "Jones, someone took Neal."
-NEXT SCENE!
Neal sprawled against the metallic flooring of the storage truck. He kept his ankle close to his chest protectively, as he took a sharp inhale through his mouth, groaning from the discomfort that wrapped around his limb.
The men had brought a sledgehammer down to Neal's ankle, crushing his anklet and fracturing his bone. He was sure it wasn't a serious fracture, but it hurt enough to feel like one.
The reckless driving prevented him from being able to stand and balance in the storage truck for too long, without tumbling over and hurting himself. He kept low to the surface, patting himself down, heart dropping when he couldn't find his phone. He could only hope that Peter knew what was going on, but he also had to put his own mind to work.
What did they want with him?
Why would someone want a con-man?
Who are these guys?
He crawled over to the far wall of the storage truck and pressed his ear against it. He could hear the loud humming of boats, as well as the words "freight" and "harbor." Quickly assessing the situation, Neal pulled off his tie clip and stuck it in his mouth, feeling a little grateful that he had chosen a clip with a thin backing.
The storage truck stopped and the door slid open brightly. Neal squinted at the light as his eyes tried to adjust. He felt his arms being roughly grabbed and his body pulled out of the vehicle. He winced, exhaling unevenly as his injured ankle was unable to keep up with his captor's haste, but he bit on his tie clip to prevent himself from yelling.
"Pleasant ride?"
Neal didn't speak. He just bit on the metal, and turned his cheek.
The Boss, however, kept his composure and calmly dismissed his henchmen. This was nothing to get worked up over.
They pulled Neal to one of the freight carts, and unlocked it. As the con-man eyed their actions, he pulled away and doubled to the floor, spitting out his tie clip near the edge of the metal containment.
"Get 'oer here." One of the masked men yelled, pulling the con-man by the back of his blazer and throwing him into the freight.
Neal landed on his chest, and felt his hands pinned behind him. Multiple zip ties encased his wrists, and he rolled over the second the man pulled away from him. Instinctively, he began to twist his wrists in counter movements, doing his best to loosen the first tie.
All the ski-masked men entered, looming over Caffrey as they closed the door and turned on the single light that hung freely from above.
"What do you want?" Neal asked solidly as he got up into a sitting position, while using one leg to push himself back against the wall.
"Greatest con-man alive, thought we could at least use you." The Boss spoke. "Theft, fraud, what can't you do?"
"And if I say no?"
"We could always use you as ransom. Rumors say you work with the FBI now."
Neal laughed. "If I did, do you really think the FBI would pay for a convict? They have plenty to choose from."
"But there's only one of you, Neal Caffrey." The man replied. "So what do you say?"
If there were something that truly caught Neal's eye, he would figure out a way to take it. But he didn't want Peter to distrust him now. He knew that Peter had put a lot on the line to keep him out of prison, and he had to return the favor some how. Neal twisted his lips but hid his snarl and shook his head. "Sorry boys but I'm not doing anything. You can think whatever you want, but I'm just not that kind of guy anymore." He half lied.
"That's too bad then Caffrey."
-CREDITS ROLL-