Neal Caffrey was in over his head.
He really had no idea what he was getting into when he proposed his deal to Peter. He didn't think that far ahead, and even after he was out of prison, he was immediately distracted by the need to acquire suitable food, suitable clothes, and a suitable roof over his head. Because what the FBI provided did not fall into the category of suitable.
It wasn't until the night before he had to start work that he actually stopped and thought about what the next four years of his life might be like. He had, at the time, laying in his comfy bed with his silk sheets and pajamas, come to the quick and simple conclusion that, however it worked out, it would be better than prison.
But had he actually given it thought—real thought, several-hour-long thought, intense thought—he would have realized the only thing he knew about the law was how to bend and break it. He didn't know what the office would be like, he didn't know what kind of conditions he would be working in, he didn't know what would be required of him.
Did all agents carry guns? Did they always carry the gun? Did he have the authority to make an arrest? If not, how was he supposed to keep a suspect in place while the real cops came? Was he even allowed to interact with suspects? Was this strictly a 'consult on paper trails' situation? Would Peter keep him in a locked room? Or would he be around other agents? Would he be treated in a similar fashion to the other agents? Was he going to be closely monitored with surprise drug tests and surveillance? Or would they only investigate when something suspicious happened?
He hadn't bothered to research the details. He saw 'information in exchange for freedom,' and that was all he needed to know; besides, Peter turned him down initially, so there was no need to dig any further.
Basically, he was flying blind, and because he was Neal Caffrey—and Neal Caffrey did not admit shortcomings—he refused to call a control tower.
He could totally handle it himself.
So, when Peter picked him up the next morning, Neal had only one concern, and that was to convince Peter to keep him around. None of the details would matter if Neal couldn't help Peter catch The Dutchman. Operation Impress Peter was underway, and there were no side missions.
He got off to a rough start when Peter got upset about the coffee—he really would try and find out what June bought—but that had nothing to do with information. Neal wasn't concerned about how it would impact his freedom. Peter didn't let him out of jail because of Neal's stellar personality.
Peter spent most of the car ride on his phone. He didn't give Neal any indication as to where they were going or what they were doing. It was about The Dutchman, of course, but that didn't really tell Neal much.
Neal tried to listen to the half of the conversation he could hear, hoping to glean some sort of idea of what was going on, but he only wound up more confused.
"No, absolutely not." Pause. "I don't care what they said. The FBI is not required to report our statistical findings to the UCR. They aren't getting anything until I have a chance to look at the official request." Pause, then no hands on the wheel in favor of an exasperated gesture. "Because it's weird that they want specifically our department's information, and I'm not comfortable tossing those stats around. It's not like we're talking UCR Part 2 crimes here. These are Part 1 crimes." Heavy sigh, turning into the drop-off area of an airport. "No, no, it's not your fault. Just… if they give you any trouble, remind them that they have no right to the information, and tell them to be patient." Pause. "Yeah, just don't give them my cell number. Thanks. Bye."
Neal was torn between addressing the airport or asking about the phone call, but in the end, he decided a wisecrack about a flight would make him seem less uncertain.
"Wow. I've been on the job less than twenty-four hours, and you're already shipping me off to someone else." Neal looked at Peter and feigned hurt, pressing a hand to his chest. "And here I thought we had something special."
Peter looked pointedly at the door Neal had yet to open, not saying a word.
Neal smiled briefly and let himself out, both car doors slamming at the same time. They entered the airport, and Neal couldn't help but be a little fascinated by Peter.
Peter might not have been a conman, but it wouldn't take much training for him to pull it off. He strode through the airport like he owned it, no hesitation in his gait, posture straight, head up, eyes set dead ahead, coat flapping out behind him as he walked. He didn't have to show his badge or his gun—based on presence alone, Peter relayed to everyone in the area that picking a fight with him was a bad idea.
Neal was about to make a comment—something witty about a strutting-in-a-trench-coat class in FBI school—but he was distracted by an attractive woman walking towards them.
She had dark skin, hair, and eyes, and she walked with the same confidence as Peter.
"Who's that?" Neal whispered, not taking his eyes off the woman walking toward him.
"That's Diana. Diana's my probie."
"Probie?" Neal didn't even try to conceal his confusion on that one.
"Probationary agent. She does everything I don't, she's very good at her job, and she can do way better than you." Peter's voice got quieter the closer they got, and then he dropped a quick greeting. "Hey."
Diana smiled at Neal. "You must be Neal Caffrey." Her smile morphed into more of a smirk, and she nodded at him. "Nice hat."
Neal grinned back with an appreciative nod, feeling a little more relaxed after the exchange. Even in the FBI, seducing women was the same. He could work with that.
"What do we got?" Peter asked, taking the file from Diana and flipping through it.
"His name is Tony Field. Customs flagged him coming in from Spain in response to our Snow White BOLO."
Back to terms he didn't understand. Great.
Peter, of course, knew exactly what Diana was talking about. "Customs playing nice?"
Diana glanced upward in something like an eyeroll—a professional, federally approved eyeroll—and answered. "The usual chest-pounding. He's in their custody not ours."
She droned on as if it were commonplace for departments to fight over jurisdiction, and Neal frowned. He always got the idea everyone was on the same side. Go team! Get the bad guys! Ooh-rah!
Did the FBI even do the 'ooh-rah' thing? No, never mind, that was marines.
Probably.
"Less paperwork for me." Peter was no more bothered by the power struggle than Diana. "What's he carrying?"
Diana grinned, and laughter found its way into her voice. "You're gonna love this."
Diana and Peter started walking at the same moment, as if on cue, and Neal followed behind. He hadn't been given orders to go with them, but he hadn't been given orders to stay, either. Neal Caffrey was the kind of guy who stuck his nose into things, so Neal Caffrey followed along, still trying to figure out his role.
He had to be careful not to show too much confusion and save his question-asking for the really important inquiries. Namely, the ones that would, if unanswered, keep him from doing his job. But he couldn't afford to tip his hand—his incredibly inexperienced, under-informed hand—so questions were best used sparingly.
They got to the area they would, apparently, be working in, and Neal had to mask his confusion once more. Suitcases his grandmother might have owned with books his great-grandmother might have owned stashed inside.
Is this normal?
Peter picked up a book and read the title aloud, revealing a clear lack of Spanish lessons.
"Snow White and Her Seven Little Men," Neal translated, picking up one of the books himself to examine it, which he figured he was probably allowed to do.
Whether it's normal or not, this is the stuff I know about. I can work with this.
He could also multitask, so he gave half of his attention to the book in his hands and delegated the rest to the conversation around him.
"This is what triggered our alert?" Beat. "What do we know about this guy?"
"Says he's a rare book dealer."
"Anything wrong with his paperwork?"
"Nope. He brought in the same books in the same quantity on three previous trips. He declared them every time."
Neal lifted the spine of the book to his nose and sniffed.
"Alright, Dino, are we wasting our time?"
Neal eased right into his role, feigning disinterest in anything but the book. "Well, they're not limited runs or special editions. Can't be worth much."
"Why go to all the trouble of flying them in?" Peter countered.
"Good question," Neal murmured, eyes still on the book.
Diana braced her arms on the table and leaned forward. "He sure is nervous for having all the right paperwork."
Which is why confidence is everything when committing a crime, Neal thought to himself.
Peter looked at the books again. "I wanna talk to him."
"I'll set it up." Diana grabbed her folder and headed for the door. "Hey, boss, I'm grabbing some coffee. You want some?"
Neal turned in sync with Peter to watch her walk away, though Peter was probably more concerned with his order than her curves.
"Yeah. Anything but decaf."
"Diana," Neal called out, a grin playing at his lips. "I'll take mine straight."
Diana smiled back, but there was much more sarcasm in it. "Neal, coffee shop's outside."
Neal laughed good-naturedly and turned back to his task, immediately interrupted by Peter's need to make a comment.
"You are way out of your league."
Neal inwardly rolled his eyes, exasperated. Did Peter do anything fun?
"Oh, harmless flirting." Neal shrugged. "It's like a dance."
"No, there is no dance. You're not even on her dance card. No dancing for you."
That pulled Neal's attention away from the books, indignation filling his tone. "Um, she digs the hat."
"Um, she'd rather be wearing the hat."
Peter turned and walked past, leaving Neal to blink and furrow his brow in confusion.
She'd rather be… ohhh. He raised his eyebrows. Oh.
Neal turned around, a retort already dancing on the tip of his tongue, but he was alone. He frowned slightly, turned all the way around just to be sure, and then he began walking. Meandering, really, looking for a familiar face without actively looking for a familiar face. It wasn't freedom, but it was a little closer than having an agent constantly breathing down his neck, so he enjoyed the chance to walk.
Never mind the fact that he had been left alone in the middle of a large airport with no idea what he was supposed to do or what his limits were. No biggie. It was all good. Just, y'know, flying blind again.
Excellent.
Thankfully, it wasn't long before he saw Diana up ahead, laughing and, from her body language, flirting with a female security guard. He observed from a distance, hands in his pockets, lips twisting up again. "Hm."
Neal glanced over his shoulder when he heard footsteps, seeing Peter walking up to him. "No dance, huh?"
"Not for you." Peter's reply was short, and he seemed both distracted and irritated.
Neal looked at him skeptically. "I thought the FBI had a policy."
"That's the military. We don't ask, we don't care." As Peter spoke, his eyes drifted to look past Neal. "Where's the customs inspector?"
Diana was walking toward them before Peter could finish his question, her hand extending to point behind them. "Neal was right; the books aren't worth much. You can pick them up for a few bucks on eBay."
Neal turned toward her slightly and smiled, feeling an admittedly stupid surge of pride at having his theory confirmed in front of Peter—especially by the agent who could, supposedly, do the job way better than him.
Not that Neal was jealous. Neal Caffrey didn't do jealous.
Peter walked up to the customs inspector and spread his arms slightly. "Hey, why didn't you tell me the guy lawyered up? The second he makes that call, I can't talk to him." That was definitely the source of Peter's irritation, judging from the frustration pervading his tone.
But the inspector seemed confused. "He didn't call anybody."
Peter let out a snort of laughter, incredulous and annoyed. "Then how did his lawyer know that he—" He came to a dead stop, and after two seconds of thought, he took off running with the inspector on his heels.
Diana ran after them, and Neal ran after her, wondering what the emergency might be. If the guy wasn't really a lawyer, what was the worst that could happen? It wasn't as if he could work out a plausible story with the suspect in the short time they had been alone. They didn't have access to the evidence, so they couldn't burn the books or anything like that.
Peter shot into the room first, followed by the inspector, then Diana, and then Neal. Peter ran up to the man hunched over the table and grabbed his shoulders, taking one quick look before practically throwing himself away.
"I need paramedics!" the inspector called, already going for the door.
Peter paced back and forth. "Nobody frisked the lawyer?" It was more of an accusation than a question.
Neal stood still, looking at John Field—looking at the syringe sticking out of his neck—and he felt a bit sick to his stomach. He had never been very good with bodies, and it disturbed him to think that if he walked over and touched the man, he would still be warm.
I have to get out of here.
Turning away from the scene, Neal stepped back out into the open airport, leaning casually against the wall and waiting for Peter and Diana to finish doing… whatever they were doing. They didn't need him, after all, and he just… well, he just felt much more comfortable without the body in sight.
"Hey, you can't run off."
Neal looked up to see Peter walking toward him, and he quickly flashed his award-winning smile. "I didn't run, I walked, and as you can see, I definitely didn't walk off of anything."
"Yuh-huh." Peter gave a quick nod and skeptical brow raise. "You gonna tell me why you walked out here?"
Neal couldn't resist the urge to point a pair of finger guns at Peter. "You got me. I was trying to pick the lock on my anklet and make a run for it."
Peter didn't smile—didn't even utter that half-hum, half-snort he used when Neal did something he found amusing—and his tone was hard when he spoke again. "No."
Neal frowned. "No what?"
"This. We are not doing this." Peter pointed to the ground between them. "You've already been arrested and tried. This isn't me working your case, this is real life, and I am not conducting an eight-hour interrogation every time I ask a question." He paused for a second, thoughtful, and then he gestured over his shoulder. "What? Was it the body? You got a thing about needles? Too many uniforms for comfort?"
Neal was still reeling, nursing his wounded pride, and it took him a moment formulate an answer. "I—I'm just not a fan of dead bodies." He smiled on instinct, a trained reaction to feeling uncomfortable.
"Well, white collar crime usually doesn't involve bodies, so that shouldn't be much of a problem. I'm sorry you had to see that on your first case, though. I'll try to keep your time around bodies as limited as I can." Peter started walking away, motioning for Neal to follow. "See how easy that was?"
Neal rolled his eyes, silent, but he couldn't deny he hadn't expected Peter to handle the issue so quickly. Everything about a conman's life was guarded carefully, because you never knew who would take advantage of what.
Neal saw his inability to deal with bodies as a weakness. He was proud of his non-violent stance, and he wasn't ashamed of his distaste for guns, but he loathed how easily he could be thrown off-kilter just by being in the same room as someone who could do him no harm. It was like a fear of spiders—except spiders could move around and lunge at you—and it was bad for his image, especially if he wanted to work with law enforcement.
But Peter was just like, 'Oh, cool, we'll work around that,' and that was the end of it.
Neal wasn't used to people working around his discomfort or fear—he was used to them exploiting it. It was… nice, especially considering Peter wasn't supposed to be on Neal's side.
"Diana," Peter called out to his probie—which sounded way too much like 'probe'—as they joined her in walking down the hall. "Get me the rest of the suspect's personal effects. We're gonna have to interrogate our dead guy another way."
Neal slipped his hands into his pockets and fell back slightly, realizing he had effectively been cut out of the conversation. He had noticed that behavior earlier—how Diana and Peter went about their business same as always, as if he wasn't there—and while it stung him to be ignored, he also kind of liked it. It gave him a more… transparent glimpse into the life of Peter Burke. Peter didn't put on airs for Neal, he didn't sugarcoat anything, and he seemed to derive some sick little pleasure out of knocking the conman flat on his butt. Diana seemed fine to do just the same. Neal didn't have to try all that hard to figure out their intentions, and it was insulting but… also refreshing.
Neal didn't know how to feel about that.
But he did know he hated to be ignored, so he picked up the pace and pushed his way into the conversation.
"So, you really can't talk to suspects after they call a lawyer?"
"I can't talk to them as soon as they say they want a lawyer. If I do, anything they say can't be submitted in court." Peter gestured with his hand as they walked, launching into an explanation that was much longer than Neal expected.
"If a suspect lawyers up, and I keep interrogating, and he admits to—I dunno, killing twenty people and burying them in his back yard—I can't submit that confession in court. I can't use it to get a warrant for his private property, either. I could claim probable cause to go on his property, but it wouldn't matter, because anything we found would be thrown out along with the confession. That's an extreme and highly unlikely scenario, but you get it."
Peter scratched his ear as he walked, turning into the room with the books. "Same thing happens if we arrest someone but don't read them their rights. I know a lot of guys that keep the Miranda Rights printed on a little card tucked in their pocket, and they read right from the card every time; that way the lawyers can't bring their memory into question. You remember how many times you got read your rights? You gotta re-Mirandize if you start questioning about another crime, if you leave the suspect alone for too long, I mean… the list goes on."
Neal blinked a few times and let out a breath. "Whew. That sounds like a lot of work."
It sounded like the tip of an iceberg; the iceberg of law enforcement rules, regulations, and culture. Neal knew absolutely nothing about the iceberg—which was becoming steadily more apparent to him—and he couldn't help but feel a bit like the Titanic. Famous for being the best in the business, allegedly unsinkable, and destined to go down on his first voyage.
This might not be as easy as I thought…
But that didn't matter. Difficult or not, he had to stay out of prison. If he went back, he couldn't find Kate, and he had to find Kate.
He had to.
Neal looked down at the bond forgery in his hand and then slowly lifted his eyes to the door in front of him. He glanced back down, triple checking the address he had… acquired… uncertain of how to proceed. He was excited to show Peter what he had figured out—excited to make progress on Operation Impress Peter—but had it really been necessary to display that eagerness by leaving his radius and going to the agent's house?
Plus, there was the matter of Mrs. Burke.
Neal didn't know much about her, but he could take a few guesses based on what he knew about Peter. He recalled the previous night when she had called the office, the 'oh crap' look on Peter's face, and his apologies for not being home on time.
Neal imagined he had kept Peter at the office many times during their three-year game. Why would she even let him in the house? Neal Caffrey invading the only place she had her husband to herself was probably the last thing she wanted.
This was a stupid idea. Neal turned around to go, already formulating an explanation for his small jaunt outside his radius.
Click. Swoosh.
"Did you really just stand on my porch for five minutes and then try to leave without saying hello?"
Neal turned around, a sheepish smile parting his lips. He almost lost that smile, floored by how much Peter's wife looked like Kate, but he kept up the façade as perfectly as ever.
"I came here to talk about the case, and I thought…" he trailed off, laughing and rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, never mind." He waved slightly. "Neal Caffrey."
"Elizabeth Burke." She smiled warmly at him, not a single ounce of reserve in her eyes. "It's nice to finally meet the competition."
Neal offered an obligatory chuckle, but he quickly took the conversation in a different direction. "Well, I'd hate to impose, so I'll just talk with Peter at the office."
"Nonsense." Elizabeth stepped back and waved Neal inside.
Neal smiled and accepted the offer, wiping his feet on the doormat before stepping over the threshold. "Thank you."
Well, Elizabeth was certainly more pleasant than he expected her to be, but he was still sailing in uncharted waters. He couldn't get a read on how genuine her polite behavior was.
"Have a seat on the couch, and I'll be right back." She started walking toward the kitchen but then stopped and turned around. "You aren't allergic to dogs, are you? Or afraid of them?"
Neal was almost offended by the question. Neal Caffrey wasn't afraid of anything. But the thought behind the question was touching, and that was where the 'almost' came in.
"Oh, no, I love dogs. Always have." He smiled and held her gaze, only allowing his eyes to wander once she turned to walk away.
Neal took a look around. It's a quaint little place. It wasn't a mansion, but it wasn't bad, either. Some aspects were exactly as he expected them to be—simple, practical, lacking color—but there were also pieces of furniture, art, and fixtures that had a far more artistic touch.
It's… not really my style, but… He made his way to the couch and sat down, placing the forgery on the coffee table. It isn't nearly as awful as I thought it would be. I would bet a lot of money that's more Elizabeth than Peter.
Neal was pulled from his thoughts by barking and the sudden appearance of what looked like a golden retriever. But Neal wasn't an expert in dog breeds. He was, however, an expert in dog loving, so he immediately started petting and scratching and rubbing.
"His name is Satchmo, and he is a very good boy." Elizabeth returned to the room with a mug in her hands and sat down on the couch, sipping what smelled like tea. "So, you said you came here to talk about the case. Tell me what you've got."
Neal buffered for a moment, his brain taking a few different paths before successfully processing the request. "Oh, I don't want to bore you. I mean, you don't have to entertain me. I'm the one who showed up uninvited."
Elizabeth only smiled and arched a brow at him, pulling her legs up onto the couch. "Neal, who do you think Peter bounces his theories off of when he's home?"
Neal furrowed his brow slightly, a soft smile pulling on his mouth. "Really?"
"Absolutely. I know more about you than you probably want me to." She laughed good-naturedly and sipped her drink again. "Go on, show me."
Neal once again paused, not quite sure how to take the unexpected turn of events.
Peter being married to a beautiful, intelligent, and kind woman wasn't too unbelievable, but Neal couldn't get his head around her being… Peter's partner in anti-crime.
Neal had always seen Peter as the poster boy for the American Dream. Nice house, nice wife, nice job; coming home from another day of the same old, same old and watching sports or mowing the lawn—mediocrity at its finest.
Neal had never imagined Peter coming home and spreading files out on the floor, inviting his wife to sit with him and work out the puzzles of his latest case. He had never imagined Peter having a wife who played devil's advocate until they worked out the solution.
"Neal?"
Neal jumped a bit but offered a quick smile. "Sorry. Lost in thought." He smiled again, wanting to reinforce the idea of total innocence, and then he pulled a magnifying glass from his pocket.
"Forgery is art you can never take credit for, so when creating some of the more impressive replications, forgers will find a way to sneak in a signature." He handed over the magnifying glass. "Look at the pants right… here." He pointed with his finger. "See anything?"
Elizabeth set her tea aside and leaned over the coffee table so she could get closer to the bond. "Well, there's definitely a C there… is that a Roman numeral? No, no. It's an H." She looked up for confirmation. "Initials?"
Neal grinned widely and nodded his head. "Exactly, and I know who those initials belong to."
Elizabeth set the magnifier down and reclaimed her tea, leaning back slightly and giving Neal a smirk. "Look at you, earning your keep."
Neal laughed and shrugged it off, but his thoughts briefly returned to his lingering fear of putting himself on Peter's bad side via Elizabeth.
He cleared his throat, petting Satchmo absentmindedly. "I, uh… I really am sorry for bringing work to your house. I'm sure that's happened a lot because of me…" He let his voice trail off and laughed weakly, averting his eyes.
"It's fine, Neal." She sounded like she meant it. "Work and home have always gone hand in hand with Peter. It's been that way since the beginning. Since before the beginning, actually." She started laughing then, barely able to speak with how wide her smile was. "He put me under surveillance before he even tried to ask me out."
Neal couldn't contain the laugh that burst between his lips, and his laughter encouraged more from Elizabeth.
"El, I've gotta go. Neal's outside his radiu—"
Both Neal and Elizabeth looked up to see Peter coming down the stairs, and just like that, the illusion of a friendly partnership was shattered.
This was definitely a stupid plan.
"Caffrey is with me." Peter continued down the stairs, talking into his phone. "Yeah. Yeah." He snapped his phone shut and stood in front of them, his face plainly demanding an explanation.
"Good morning, honey."
Neal immediately followed her casual, nothing-is-wrong-with-this-scenario lead. "Peter." He nodded his head in greeting.
"You're on my couch?" Peter gestured for emphasis.
"Yeah, I came to talk to you and, uh… frankly, Peter, I have to say, I'm surprised you have such an amazing wife." Neal smiled.
Peter laughed sarcastically. "Uh-huh, yeah, I like her. Get off my couch."
Neal only continued to smile.
"Honey, we're just chatting."
"Chatting?" Peter echoed. "How did you even get here?"
"Cab," Neal deadpanned. Obviously, Peter.
Peter pointed at him. "You activated your tracker. You're in my house, on my couch, with my wife."
Neal took the tongue-lashing in stride, and when Satchmo whined to get his attention, he was all too happy to show Peter how much he didn't care.
Even if he did.
"Oh, hey, Satchmo." Neal ran his hands over Satchmo's head and neck, giving him a quick kiss. "Hi."
"Now you're petting my dog." Peter let his hand drop, exasperated, and he started to walk away.
Neal continued to rub Satchmo, prodding a little more. "Did you really put Elizabeth under surveillance before you asked her out?"
Peter looked at Neal for a moment, surprise twisting his features, and then his gaze shifted to Elizabeth.
"Peter." Neal smiled, cheeky as ever. "I underestimated you."
"You told him." Peter didn't sound angry, but he didn't sound pleased, either.
Elizabeth straightened up and offered an explanation to Neal, no doubt realizing she had never finished her story. "He said he wanted to make sure that I wasn't seeing anybody else." Then, to Peter. "Honey, I think it's cute."
Neal spread his hands and shrugged. "I think its adorable."
"I'm putting you back in prison." Peter was already on his phone.
Neal swallowed his gut reaction—something like anger and panic mixed together—and offered the incentive he had intended to show Peter in the first place. "I know who the Dutchman is."
Peter looked at him slowly, eyes suspicious, phone still ringing in his hand. "Enlighten me," he drawled.
"Curtis Hagen." Neal smiled and raised his brow slightly, a silent, 'How do you like that?'
Peter looked at him with an equally silent demand for elaboration, sort of a 'So what, smart guy? Don't forget you have to show your work.'
"He's an art restorer—one of the best in the world—but his own work never took off. He's particularly good at Goya restorations." Neal gestured to the forged bond with his head. "That's what this is, Peter; the bond is him showing off."
Peter seemed to consider it for a moment, and then he ended the call. "Interesting theory. How do you prove it?"
"He signed it."
"I think we might have noticed a signature tucked in the corner."
Neal looked to Elizabeth for help, and he was pleased beyond words when she pointed to the paper on the table.
"Show him." She had nothing but kindness and support in her eyes when she looked at Neal.
Peter still didn't look all that happy, but he put his phone away and walked over to the couch, taking a seat. It was a step in the right direction.
"Look at the pants on the Spanish peasant," Neal said. "What do you see? It's the initials C and H."
Peter picked up the forgery and the magnifying glass, still unconvinced. "I don't know that's—that's a stretch."
"This bond is a masterpiece. If I'd done something this good, I would've signed it." Then, loathe as he was to admit defeat, he continued. "The forgeries you caught me on, I signed them."
"Where?" Peter asked, looking at him.
Neal had a brief moment of surreal reflection—of 'how did this guy catch me?'—and then he answered. "Look at the bank seal under polarized light sometime."
Peter made a face, as if the fact that he missed Neal's signature physically pained him.
"Hagen is doing a church restoration on 3rd street," Neal continued, desperate to impress Peter with the amount of work he did off the clock. "We can stop by on our way in."
Peter fought the idea for a few more seconds, but he eventually handed the magnifier over. "Fine. Meet me in the car."
Neal nodded. He could live with that. Especially if everything went according to plan from then on forward. Operation Impress Peter was go. Operation Find Kate wouldn't be far behind.
Peter looked at him. "I'm gonna say goodbye to my wife now."
"Oh, yeah." Neal stood abruptly, momentarily embarrassed by his not-so-subconscious desire to stay, but he quickly played it off as the typical, innocent and annoying attitude Peter knew.
Neal turned to shake Elizabeth's hand. "It was nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you, after all these years."
Neal smiled again and headed out the door, already dreading the car ride back to the office. It's lecture time. But I know who the Dutchman is, and I didn't break any laws. I'm in the clear.
It was less than three minutes before Peter joined him in the car, and then they were pulling onto the streets.
It took Peter all of twenty-three seconds to start his speech.
"I can't believe you activated your tracker."
Neal sighed. "Peter, I was coming to your house."
"It doesn't matter. You activated it. You do that again, and—"
"You'll send me back to prison. I got the memo."
"Really, did you?" Peter shook his head, incredulous. "Because you sure don't act like it."
"I haven't—" Neal's voice had raised briefly, but he pulled it back down. "I haven't broken any laws, and I didn't steal anything. I was coming to talk to you about the case, which means I was working on it in my free time." He spread his hands. "What more do you want me to do?"
"What I want you to do is think." Peter shook his head, frustrated, but it was different from the vexation he displayed at the house. "It's that ego of yours. You never think outside of yourself and your perspective."
Neal opened his mouth to object, hurt and offended and indignant, something along the lines of 'how dare you?' dancing on his tongue.
"You know you didn't do anything wrong, and that's it. That's where your brain stops. You don't look at the big picture." Peter sighed and shook his head. "You skip on your tracking anklet too many times, people start asking me questions. I keep telling them it's perfectly benign, perfectly good things. Then someone gets the idea I'm covering for you, that you're blackmailing or threatening me or—"
"Really?" Neal's eyebrows shot up. "Really, that's the best you could come up with? I would never threaten or blackmail you, Peter, you know that."
"Yes, I do know that." Peter actually raised his voice, increasing the volume enough to startle Neal into silence. "But you don't seem to understand that literally nobody else does. The CIA, the U.S. Marshals, the rest of the FBI, NCIS—name any branch you want—they don't know that. All they know is what's in your file, and they read the words 'flight risk' and 'activated tracking anklet' and they throw you back in your cell without a second thought."
Neal didn't quite have the courage to roll his eyes, but he still let out an annoyed sigh. "And you think the CIA is going to be paying attention to my tracking anklet?"
"Not under normal circumstances, but what if our cases overlap? What if we get involved in a joint case between different jurisdictions? What if OPR comes to investigate the work environment? Heck, even other people in the white collar unit. They see something they don't like, they send it up their chain of command, and the FBI doesn't want to risk an escape or more bad blood with other agencies or a media scandal, so they cut their losses and once again, you're in the cell."
Neal looked down at his lap, silent, chewing on his lip. Well, when you put it that way…
"It's the same thing with your Hagen theory. Don't get me wrong, I still think it's a stretch, but I also think you know what you're doing. To me, your word warrants some investigation." Peter shook his head. "But all it takes is one wrong lead, one lawsuit against the bureau, and that's it. I try to show them an alleged signature—which is all we have to go on right now—and they say, 'Yeah, Burke, and we bet you found the Virgin Mary in a toaster, too.' I lose my job, you go back to prison."
Neal fell quiet after that, wetting his lips and going over the scenarios Peter had presented. Even if they were a bit dramatic, the fact still remained that he hadn't considered a single one of them. He just assumed if the reason was benign, Peter would explain everything, and there wouldn't be a problem.
He was kicking himself for it, too. How could he be so acutely aware of the fact that he knew nothing about the agencies and laws and protocols of his new job, and then completely miss the fact that he had no idea what he could and couldn't do or what the repercussions might be?
"Neal…" Peter pulled up at the church and put the car in park, slumping into his seat with a sigh. "This isn't some… TV show where they get a warrant in five minutes flat and shoot at a fleeing suspect just because they have a badge. You have no idea all the hoops we have to jump through to get our job done." He spread his hands to indicate no ill-will, nonchalance pulling his shoulders up in a shrug. "And that's okay. It's not your job to know the hoops, it's my job. Your job is to consult on things you're an expert on. But that means you gotta stop and think about what I tell you to do or not do; you have to remember I know things you don't. Okay?"
Peter let the question hang, waiting patiently as silence settled over the car.
Neal cleared his throat, not quite able to lift his eyes to meet Peter's. "I, uh… yeah, sure. I just thought…"
"You thought I was being a jerk for no good reason." Despite the words, there was no anger in Peter's voice. "Yeah, I figured that out." He sounded half-amused, actually.
Neal looked down at his lap, picking idly at his nails and wondering where to take the conversation next.
"Look, Neal." Peter unbuckled his seatbelt and put his hand on the car door handle. "Let's just focus on getting this case solved. Once we make sure you're gonna stay out from behind bars, then we can start talking about chain of command and protocol. Got it?"
Neal looked at Peter, confused. He felt a soft warmth in his chest, and he had to swallow before he could speak. "You don't want me to go back?" He blinked. "You were the one who said this was a test run." And you take every opportunity to remind me you can and will send me back to jail for the slightest misstep.
"Yeah, and it is, but I'm not the one you have to convince. I already know how helpful you're gonna be." Peter looked at him strangely, as if he didn't understand what Neal was so confused about. "Why do you think I turned you down the first time you proposed the deal? We both know what you have to offer, and I don't want you holding that over anybody's head—specifically mine."
Then Peter got out of the car and started walking toward the church, acting as if the most normal conversation had just taken place.
Neal got out and followed him, slightly dazed as he struggled to process what Peter had just told him. Peter, apparently, hadn't seen the deal offer as Neal reaching out in desperation for someone to let him out of prison. He saw it as Neal trying to win favors; trying to make himself the kind of asset higherups would let play by his own rules, because he was just that valuable.
It made sense, too. It was a clever con, and he was certain he could have pulled it off, but that had been the furthest thing from his mind when he came up with the idea. But he didn't fault Peter for the conclusion he had drawn. In all honesty, it was what Neal should have tried to do, he was just too—
Scared. Desperate. Lonely.
He needed to find Kate. He didn't want to be alone again.
But Peter didn't know that. He didn't turn Neal down because he didn't care, he turned Neal down because he still saw Neal as an intelligent, crafty rival. Neal didn't have to convince Peter to see him as valuable, because Peter already saw that. He had to convince Peter he was trustworthy.
But… building trust meant embracing vulnerability, and that was a huge no-no in the realm of cons and mind games.
Neal shook himself, bringing his thoughts to an abrupt halt as they stepped into the massive, ornate building.
I can't think about that now. It's showtime.
Showtime came and went, and then Hagen scheduled a flight. Neal once again kicked himself for his spectacular lack of impulse control. He had jeopardized everything, and he couldn't stave off the panic he felt at Peter's ultimatum.
No. It wasn't Peter's. It was just how things were.
It wasn't, 'If we can't catch the Dutchman, you're going back to prison because I don't think you're worth the effort.'
It was, 'If we can't catch the Dutchman, you're going back to prison because there's nothing I can do.'
It made a difference in how he saw Peter, but not in the desperate nature of his situation. Still, Neal felt they had taken a step in the right direction, and he decided to take a chance and show Peter the picture of Kate.
That had been a mistake.
Or at least, Neal thought it was a mistake. He was angry, and he felt hurt and betrayed. He had opened up to Peter a bit, shown him the side that was a boyfriend and not a conman, and Peter had it thrown back in his face.
But later, when Neal was sitting at his desk cooling off, he put a little more thought into the words Peter chose.
"She dumped you—with prejudice."
Neal had taken that as Peter being unwilling to invest in a search for Kate, and it made him angry at the time. But after taking a little time to cool off, he realized what Peter actually meant.
"She dumped you, and she went out of her way to intentionally hurt you."
There was really only one reason for Peter to care about how Kate left Neal. It had nothing to do with a lack of interest or the notion that Neal and Kate weren't really in love.
No, Peter genuinely believed Kate was going to be a source of pain for Neal. He was protecting Neal, in his own way, and it was frustrating, but it was another sign that Peter cared.
Peter was wrong, of course. Neal knew there was more to Kate's disappearance, more to their story, and he wouldn't stop looking no matter what.
But it was still nice to know Peter cared.
Once Neal had his epiphany, he cooled down quickly and got his head back in the game.
He went to Peter with the information he had, and they investigated the warehouse Mozzie had told him about. It was a success, and Peter was finally starting to see things Neal's way. Operation Impress Peter was moving along smoothly.
"I am on board. Hagen is our guy, but we still don't have enough for a warrant."
Neal frowned. "We know the bonds are there. Just open the door."
"Yeah, mm-hmm, well, you should read this." Peter grabbed a massive book and slid it across the table. "Warrant law."
Neal looked down at it, still frowning. More hoops…
"All I've got is sound coming out of a warehouse and no way to link him to the bond." Peter braced his arms on the table and inhaled. "I've got to talk to your friend."
Neal's pulse elevated slightly, but he simply shook his head in confusion. "Friend?"
"Come on, Neal, the guy who gave you a cigarette."
Neal slowly shook his head again. "I have no—"
"What, you think Jones is an idiot?"
Neal stared Peter down for a second more, and then he bowed his head in defeat. Yet another impulsive, stupid move on my part. I walked right up to Mozzie and asked him for a cigarette. I should have made it look like an accident.
"I have to know how he connected Hagen to the warehouse."
Neal stared at the table top, struggling with himself.
"Come on, Neal. And you gotta trust me."
Neal held out a bit more, but then he started shaking his head. "Okay." He raised his brows, a tight, sarcastic smile pulling on his lips. "Okay. I'll bring you to him. First thing tomorrow."
"Good." Peter nodded.
Neal looked back at the book on the table, scrambling to think of a way to catch Hagen before the sun came up. He couldn't turn Mozzie in; he just couldn't. Not after Peter's reaction to Kate. Peter may have had good intentions, but he had that bigger picture perspective, and Neal wasn't sure where Mozzie fit in that picture.
"I guess there's no putting it off." Peter heaved a sigh, shaking his head. "It's gonna be paperwork for the rest of the day."
Neal snickered for a second and then abruptly stopped. "Wait. Do I have to do paperwork?"
"Yeah, but you can't do the kind I'm working on, and we don't have a desk set up for you yet, so…" Peter rubbed the back of his neck and exhaled slowly. "Let me see what I have."
Neal grabbed the book on warrant law and followed Peter out of the conference room, going into the office and immediately making himself comfortable. He relaxed on the swivel chair and opened the book, figuring he would read until Peter had something for him. He only had so much time to devise a trap for Hagen.
"Yes, great, that's a good idea." Peter gave him a distracted thumbs up and started to sift through the papers on his desk. "Do that."
Neal glanced up with a patronizing smile. "I am, Peter."
Peter gave him a withering glare and got back to his clutter.
Silence fell over the room, Peter sorting and Neal reading, but it lasted no more than five minutes. Peter's phone rang and, after looking at the screen, he shut the door to the office and answered it.
"Hey, long time no talk." Pause. "What?"
Neal looked up from his reading, mildly interested.
"Hold on. I'm putting you on speaker so I can look…" Peter hit a few buttons and set the phone down, grabbing the files from the bottom of the pile. "Talk to me, Jethro."
"Requested files three hours ago. Haven't gotten them yet."
Neal pursed his lips slightly. Jethro was, apparently, a man of few words.
Peter continued to look through the papers. "What kind of files? Why do you need them?"
"Two marines, tortured and killed. Fingerprints on the weapon belong to a dead guy. He was a big-time embezzler."
Neal's eyes widened slightly, but Peter didn't seem affected. Is that considered a normal phone call around here? 'Hey, can you get me some paperwork? We got a couple guys over here who were literally tortured and murdered.' 'Yeah, sure, let me top off my coffee first.'
Peter pulled out a sheet with a red flag on it, sighed in disgust, and opened his door just long enough to shout out, "We tag emergency files for a reason, people!"
Neal couldn't help but straighten up a little and try to get a glimpse at the form, hoping for some more details. Emergency?
"So, you need the file on our embezzler to find out where and when someone could have gotten his prints." Peter sat down at his computer and began typing, eyes flickering from one side of the screen to the other.
"Mm-hmm."
"I'll get it to you as soon as I can."
"I need it now, Peter." There was a brief pause, some background noise, and then the voice of the mysterious Jethro was back. "We've got seven hours to find him before our third body shows up."
Peter spread his hands, an incredulous expression crossing his face. "You might have mentioned that at the beginning of the conversation."
Jethro didn't say anything.
Peter sighed and shook his head, looking across the table at Neal. "I have extra hands today. I'll make it work."
"Probie?" Jethro's voice crackled through the speaker.
Neal crinkled his nose. It was such a weird word.
Peter chuckled and shook his head. "No. Felon. You would hate him."
Neal gave Peter a withering glare, but Peter only grinned at him.
"Keep him away from DiNozzo," Jethro replied.
Peter snorted, sitting down in front of his computer. "You assume he's like DiNozzo."
"You tell me I would hate somebody, I always assume they're like DiNozzo." Someone objected to the statement in the background of Jethro's call, but Jethro himself only hummed in amusement.
"Yeah, well, hopefully they'll never meet." Peter was typing faster than Neal had ever seen him type—not that he saw Peter typing all that much, but still. "They'd probably drink five bottles of the finest wine and spend the whole night gambling in Vegas."
Neal immediately wanted to meet this person. This… DiNozzo.
"Got anything on those files yet?" Jethro questioned impatiently.
"Sending information from the FBI to NCIS isn't exactly an email drag and drop." Despite the words, Peter was removing his hands from the keyboard just a few minutes later. "There. You cannot use this to get a warrant until I send the paperwork through. I'll have my people look through some old files for anything else on this guy's record."
"Thanks," was all Jethro said.
Peter couldn't help but smile. "You still got that boat in your basement?"
Click.
Peter laughed and shook his head, setting the red-flagged paper aside and pulling a blank form from his drawers. He stood up and walked to the door, opening it up and sticking his head out again. "Diana, bring me any files we have on a Matthew Brennon."
Neal watched Peter walk back to his desk, unable to get the scene he had just witnessed out of his head. It was just so surreal. From Neal's side of the law, he saw SWAT teams kicking down doors, agents running with their guns drawn, and vehicles speeding down the road with flashing lights and sirens. Now that he was on Peter's side, it was just… so…
Boring wasn't the right word. It was the first one that came to mind, but it made Neal crinkle his nose. It wasn't boring. It was… relaxed? No, it was… it was so… blasé.
'We've got another homicide on Main Street, boss.'
'Really? Don't they have anything better to do?'
But it didn't stop there. If it did—if it stopped at that 'all in a day's work' feel—then it would definitely classify as boring. But it didn't. Neal could still recall how excited Peter had been when they started to zero in on Hagen. Peter might have been used to the crimes, but there was no acclimating to the thrill of the chase.
Neal envied that.
Every time Neal committed a crime, he had to go bigger and better than the one before to get that rush. He had to increase the risks and challenges each time, or he couldn't get that thrill, that high he so desperately needed.
Which, he supposed, might have been because of the difference in the endgame. Neal could only collect so many pieces of art before they started to lose value. He could only break through so many security measures before they were mere irritations, something he considered unworthy of his attention.
Peter's endgame was to help people. People never lost value. People would always be worthy of attention. No matter how many cases Peter closed, the 'treasure' he was after, so to speak, would always be just as important to him.
"Got your files, boss. You want me to go through these?"
Neal looked up as Diana set a box of folders down in front of the desk.
"No, Neal's gonna do that. I want you to start on this form." Peter grabbed the papers he had pulled out earlier and handed them over. "You might have to make a few calls. If you need to…" Peter scratched a number on a sticky note, "…call this number. Agent Gibbs. He can get you in touch with the NCIS director, and she can throw her weight around with SECNAV."
"Got it, boss." Diana grabbed the note and made to leave.
"Oh, Diana." Peter looked up from his desk. "Director Jen shouldn't give you any trouble, but if she does, you should know she doesn't write people up for talking out of turn."
Diana grinned and opened the door. "Definitely got it, boss."
Neal waited until Diana closed the door to look at Peter in confusion. "Seck-Nav?"
"The Secretary of the Navy."
Neal's eyes widened. "Like… the whole Navy?"
Peter smirked and nodded his head. "Oh, yeah. I know people, Neal. I know people who know people."
"Like who?"
Peter smiled for a moment and then got to his feet, giving an order in lieu of an answer. "I want you to go through these files and look for anything unusual. It's possible the killer got Brennon's fingerprints without being detected, but there's always a chance he messed up. Look for anything that would indicate closeness or contact, like… uh…" He snapped his fingers a few times, losing his train of thought for a moment. "Like if he was robbed, if his house got broken into, if he thought he was being stalked—forget the embezzlement and fraud, just focus on crimes that required someone being around him."
Neal nodded and grabbed the first of many files.
Peter stood up with a grunt and grabbed his cup. "I'm getting coffee, you want some?"
"Yeah. I take it straight." Neal frowned slightly, quickly wrapped up in the case file.
"Okay. Back in a few."
Peter left the room, and Neal set the file in his hands aside. He definitely wasn't looking for insurance fraud. He grabbed another file and opened it, scanning the first page and a half before setting it aside as well.
Peter returned with a steaming cup in each hand and kicked the door shut behind him. "You know, if you stick around long enough, I might have to take you to Quantico sometime."
Neal pursed his lips and took his coffee, completely understanding why Peter would take him on a road trip for fun. He also totally knew what Quantico was. Because, of course, he had heard it in many a conversation, and every time he heard it, he told himself to look it up later. And he definitely never forgot to look it up later.
"You don't know what that is, do you?"
"Ahhh, no." Neal shook his head. "Nope."
"Quantico, Virginia. FBI HQ is there, along with the FBI Academy. Some of the divisions operate entirely out of the building there. There's also the U.S. Army Naval Base, where NCIS operates out of. Jethro—the guy on the phone?—he's with NCIS."
Neal smiled a little, stuck on the idea of HQ. He liked the sound of it and the connotations it had. 'Welcome to FBI HQ, here are your memory-wiping machines and sci-fi ray guns.'
Oof. Out of prison less than a week, and Mozzie was already getting to him.
"What's NCIS?" he asked, figuring it was a more appropriate response.
"Naval Criminal Investigative Services. They're the us for crimes committed against any marine or member of the navy, crimes involving navy ships, certain kinds of terrorism, and so on. They aren't as big or well-known as some organizations, but they've got some great people over there. They get stuff done."
Neal looked back down at the file in his lap, not sure where to take the conversation from there, nodding a few times if only to assure Peter he was paying attention.
"It's a lot, isn't it?"
Neal glanced up, opening his mouth but finding he had no answer.
Peter leaned back in his chair, abandoning his paperwork for a moment. "My mother always says, 'the more you learn, the less you know.' Everybody has, at least once in their life, begun to learn about something only to find there is… so much more to know than they realized."
Neal looked down at the book again, swallowing. Peter wasn't wrong. Neal had spent almost the entire day overwhelmed by how out of his league he truly was. He had absolutely no idea what he was doing, and with every regulation or law he learned, with every conversation he overheard, he felt like he knew less and less.
He had been so wrong to assume Peter's life was a mediocre one. Just because Peter wasn't breaking laws and living the rogue life, it didn't mean his own life wasn't full of excitement in its own way. How cool was it to bring down bad guys on a daily basis? Had he ever kicked down a door? How many bodies did it take for Peter to not react with any shock or discomfort when Field turned up dead? Had he ever shot someone? What kind of stories had Peter heard in order for 'two marines tortured and killed' to garner no reaction from him?
It was new. It was exciting. It was kind of frightening.
Neal wanted to know more, and not just because he didn't want to spend his four years making things up as he went along, but because it genuinely interested him. He thought he knew what it would be like to live in Peter's world, but he was wrong—he was so wrong—and the least he could do was give Peter's way an honest chance.
"You should have called."
Neal rolled his eyes, but he stayed on the desk next to Peter, watching with no small sense of satisfaction as Hagen's scheme came tumbling down.
"You did good, but you still should have called."
"Well, I didn't read the whole book, but I figured it wouldn't work if you knew what the plan was."
Peter looked at him for a moment, smirked, and then faced forward. He began speaking to an invisible audience, as if Neal weren't even there, using a crisp, businesslike tone.
"Your Honor, it is true that the witness called me and told me of his intention to fabricate exigent circumstances. However, upon hearing this, I immediately instructed him not to do so. Two hours later, I received notification that the witness had left his radius, so I pursued him. Upon arriving at the warehouse in question, I considered the possibility the witness was trying to go ahead with his proposed plan. However, he had risked reincarceration to find and confront the defendant, and when I considered the level of determination, I couldn't be sure how far he would go to accomplish his goal. It became obvious that the warehouse had to be entered to ensure the safety of both the defendant and the witness."
Peter looked back at Neal, who couldn't quite keep his mouth from hanging open, and smirked again, clearly pleased with himself.
"Peter, I…" Neal shook his head in disbelief. "I really underestimated you."
Peter grinned and turned his attention back to the warehouse. "You're not the only one who knows how to stretch the truth."
Neal smiled and nodded, still processing the argument Peter had pulled out of thin air, and then he sobered a bit. He cleared his throat and nudged Peter with his elbow. "I, uh… the tracker."
Peter shook his head before he could go any further. "Don't worry about it." He gestured to the rest of the building with a nod. "We have multiple witnesses, all of them credible, who can verify you were not making a run for it. Plus, we have the evidence of a case closed, which the higher ups will consider a benefit of you leaving your radius—one that outweighs the risks."
Neal grinned and performed a discreet fist pump, more for himself than anything else.
"Don't make a habit of it," Peter warned, wagging a finger in Neal's face. "Do. Not."
Neal grinned even wider. "Deal."
That was a lie. But, well, it was the thought that counted, right?
"You'll be here when I get back?"
"Where else am I gonna go?"
Neal smiled up at Peter, radiating as much innocence as ever, and Peter stepped away from the table. He walked back inside Neal's apartment, and Neal turned to his paper, assuming the conversation was over. He opened the paper and looked at his picture of Kate, a smile pulling on his lips.
He was forced to put it away less than a minute later when Peter came back with a stack of books in his hands. He walked up to the table and plopped them down in front of Neal.
"What's this?" Neal took the thick notebook off the top and looked at the titles of the books.
They were textbooks—two of them. Criminal Justice 101.
Neal let out a sarcastic laugh and wore a matching smile, dropping the notebook back the pile. "Haha. You're funny, Peter. I get it. Because I don't know anything." Neal pointed to the books. "Very, very funny."
Peter smiled slightly, but he shook his head. "I'm not being funny, Neal. Everyone has to start somewhere." He grabbed the notebook off the top. "Notes from my college days." He tapped the hardcover book. "My textbook, also with notes, but seeing as that's pretty outdated…" He pushed the book aside and tapped the last book. "I got a new one."
Neal looked at them again, not quite sure what to say. He ran his fingers over the notebook cover and started leafing through the contents. "Peter, I…"
"You don't have to use them." Peter put his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "It's not required reading. It's just… there if you want it."
Neal looked up and smiled. "No, no, this is good. This is…" He looked back down, smiling at the surprisingly neat notes.
Confidential Informant – Someone who exchanges information for freedom.
"Hey, look at that. It's one I already know." He pointed it out to Peter with a grin.
Peter smiled in returned and grabbed Neal's shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze. "Just behave while we're gone. Got it?"
"Sir, yes, sir." Neal gave a mock salute and turned back to the notebook in his hands.
He waited until he was certain Peter was gone—actually gone, not just in the apartment—and then pulled the picture of Kate from underneath the papers and books.
He was touched by Peter reaching out to him and trying to teach him rather than using force, but no matter what, he couldn't forget his real objective.
Operation Impress Peter had been a success.
Operation Find Kate was officially underway.
Neal looked at the picture again and then tilted his head back, smiling at the sun.
Hold on, Kate. I'm coming for you.
Author's Note: I agonized for a long time over how clueless to make Neal. He's so intelligent, and we see he has some knowledge of law (he knows there's case law and uses it to make the deal) but then he misses the most obvious stuff, ike warrants and the need for gloves when touching evidence; he misses the stuff literally anyone can learn just by watching cop shows. I decided Neal probably stockpiled some legal information, but only if it could help him get out of a bad situation.
All hail the NCIS references. All hail foreshadowing future episodes.