Title: Cascade Effects

Author: Lady Black-Malfoy

Rating: T (rating may change)

Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck or White Collar. If I did then this story would obviously happen, and Bryce Larkin would be alive. :D

Summary: After Neal slips up, Peter is suspicious and starts to look in to the past. In particular, Neal Caffrey's past. When a new case comes in, can Neal protect his cover while still doing the job he was sent to do? The stakes are higher than ever, but with the help of some old friends he just might be able to pull it off. Set after White Collar episode 1x10 "Vital Signs", and Chuck episode 3x05 "Chuck Versus the First Class". Sequel to Vital Lies. Thanks to my betas AwesomeQueenoftheLab, the-vampire-act, and lauraac2110!

This chapter I was never happy with, so I went back and added some more substance to it. I'm slowly going over all the chapters as I'm writing more, so there will be a few more minor edits. Fair warning, there may be minor discrepancies in chapters because of this, but they shouldn't be too bad. If they are, let me know. :D

Edited : 4/21/11

Chapter One - Breaking and Entering

Neal Caffrey sighed heavily as he took out his keys and went to unlock June's front door. It seemed like the older woman was out tonight. The lights in the house were all out, and it was eerily silent. For a moment, as he opened the door and walked in, he was slightly disoriented from both the silence and the pressing darkness. It had to be at least midnight, and, other than the illumination from the streetlights, it was pitch black in the big house. Neal shut the door quietly and leaned against it while he allowed his eyes to adjust to the lack of light. After a few minutes, he could finally see, and he took out his phone to shut off the security system to the downstairs area. He had wondered why June, his landlady, never had a system installed inside, as Neal had always made sure his space was secured. After all, he had many things to hide.

So, when he had first moved in, he had made some calls and was able to get a specialist to come in to wire the house while June was out. It was the latest technology and very secure. No one other than him knew it was even installed.

Cameras the size of ladybugs had been installed in very strategic places around the house, along with biometric sensors. The biometric system was special and one of his favorite new security measures.

Normally, when someone came into a house, they might call out a name or something to gain attention of the person living there. For this reason, microphones were hidden near the cameras to pick up voices and then scan the voice patterns to identify a person. If they did not match to the samples Neal had picked up from Peter, El, June, and Moz, then an alert would be sent to Neal's phone, along with video of the house. Getting the voice samples had been fun, Neal remembered, as he had had to get all of their voiceprints for the database. He got them to say certain sentences for their unique ID's, and then programmed the system to record them. The new system was so advanced that even a recording would not allow entry. If the person who entered never spoke, but triggered the motion sensors, then the computer would also send the alert out to Neal. When someone was home the system was disabled, at least downstairs. Upstairs was a little different.

On Neal's door to his area of the house, he had another biometric system installed. His doorknob did more than just open the door. Underneath the gold paint where the locking mechanism was supposed to be, a special sensor had been inserted. It required no contact, and, using a special light-transmission technique, it scanned the veins in a hand. The technique was much more accurate than fingerprint scanning, and a lot more discreet. The same people who had voice patterns in the database had scans of their palms also made. Each had opened his door at some point, and he just had the system save their scans. The key was really only for show, for once the computer verified the vein print, it automatically opened. Sleight of hand took care of the fake key, and his friends were none the wiser. If someone unauthorized tripped it, then it would send out another alert and lock the door automatically.

He entered the code that would disable the system into his phone and glanced at the display. In the very corner of the screen, a tiny red dot that was similar to the recording symbol flashed green, and Neal snapped it shut once he was satisfied the system would not trigger from his entrance. He then took his hat off before casually flipping it onto the banister at the base of the stairs. Silently, he went up the ornate staircase, and once in the darkened hall, he walked to his door with his hands in his pockets. A sudden noise from behind the wall to his room, however, caused him to pause in the middle of the hall. He'd been trained to be able to pick up even the faintest sounds and distinguish what type of person they might belong to. He knew that women tended to step lighter and had a smaller stride length when they walked. Men, on the other hand–unless trained to mask their footsteps–were very heavy-footed with a larger stride length. Neal himself had learned to keep his steps completely silent when the situation called for stealth.

Sure enough, he could make out light footsteps. However, whoever was currently inside his room had a large stride, so Neal guessed it was a man attempting to sneak around. Momentarily cursing at himself in his head for almost walking into a possible ambush–as he had let his guard down slightly–he knew that his system must have been bypassed somehow. Skilled at getting into places he shouldn't be, Neal knew that every security system had flaws that could be manipulated to gain entry. As he took a deep breath, his mind raced, calculating just where, and who, the possible assailant was and how he could possibly subdue them without getting injured.

He knew that it couldn't be either Peter or El, as they were both at home, and June would never sneak into his room. Mozzie was a possibility. He frowned though when he thought that sneaking was not really Mozzie's style. Except, of course, that one time when Neal had first moved into June's. The shady man had just been lucky that Neal was not one to shoot first and ask questions later.

Finally making a decision, Neal reached out with his left hand and touched the doorknob. A quiet click indicated the lock was undone, as his hand had been scanned and his identity verified. Listening for a moment longer, he quieted his breathing and was able to make out a slight sound to the very right of him behind the door. He almost grinned, as the assailant seemed to be either stupid or just unobservant of the fact that he was home, but then sobered up quickly when he remembered the unknown person had gotten past his high-tech security system.

Silently, Neal shifted his weight so that he could move easier once he opened the door. Finally satisfied that he was ready to surprise the unknown man, Neal took another deep breath and flung open the door. Right away, he ducked into a roll and heard a swoosh of air pass the spot where his head would have been if he had still been standing up straight. While his attacker had overbalanced from the attempted strike, Neal had already moved. He snapped up from the somersault as the attacker crashed into the doorframe, the echoing crack of breaking wood soon following. Quickly taking in the man's position facing away from him, Neal struck out, his right foot connecting solidly with the back of the other's thigh. The man released a grunt as his leg buckled from the spasm the hit had caused, and Neal watched as he slid to the ground, still clinging to the doorframe. He moved into a combat position again, just in case the man attacked back. Taking the quick moment of peace, he observed his assailant.

It was dark in the apartment, but being that it was New York, some light from the city illuminated the room. All Neal could really make out though was the man's dark hair. He cocked his head. It looked vaguely familiar for some reason.

"Who are you?" Neal asked, his voice strong despite the panic that was bubbling up. The adrenaline racing through his veins keep some of it at bay, and was keeping his mind focused. A deep and slightly pained laugh suddenly filled the dark room. Neal's racing mind froze, and he lowered his raised arms before whispering, "You!"

"Me," the attacker said, sounding amused. Taking advantage of Neal's paralyzed state, the man swiftly kicked out the consultant's legs from underneath him. Crashing to the ground on his back, Neal's reactions were still tempered by shock, and he was not able to protect himself in time, as the man moved quickly. A large piece of wood was abruptly thrust under his neck, like a knife, and the familiar attacker was on top of him, pinning him down securely. Stuck, his bright grey eyes gazed into sparkling brown.

"Not a real climatic way to go, death by splinter," the man whispered into Neal's ear, breath tickling the side of his neck. He chuckled when Neal's eyes flashed. "Death by splinter cell would have been more likely. For you at least, Bryce."

"Daniel Shaw, what a pleasure." Neal sneered, turning his head away and jerking his arms in an attempt to get free. Unfortunately, the man above him was stronger, and he just got pinned down harder. He made a mental note to talk to June about maybe getting carpet installed. Wood was so hard on the back. "Now, get the hell off of me before I do something I really won't regret."

"That isn't any way to greet an old friend, Bryce," the dark-haired man said, then glanced up with a thoughtful expression on his face. "What happened to those manners of yours?"

"You're one to talk," he snarled back. "Breaking and entering isn't a real polite way to stop and say hi, now, is it?" When Shaw opened his mouth to respond, Neal continued. "And I did warn you."

It was immensely gratifying to watch the man's eyes widen in sudden realization, before they bugged out slightly as Neal kneed him in the groin. A whoosh of air escaped Shaw, and in the dim light the consultant could see a red blush to his face. With a huge push, he was able to turn the tables and heave the gasping man off of him before seizing the large piece of wood that had been dropped on the floor. He would have to think up some excuse for the damage to the frame–June was a smart lady, and Neal Caffrey was not known for being violent.

"I hate to say I told you so," he said brightly, expertly spinning the wood between his fingers like he would a knife and watching the man moan in pain, "but I told you so."

Five minutes and a bag of frozen peas later, Neal was sitting with Shaw at his dining room table and nursing a glass of scotch. The apartment was dark still, only illuminated by a small table lamp. It still provided enough light for the consultant to get a good look at his old instructor.

Daniel Shaw could have jumped straight out of the pages of a Superman comic book, with the extremely muscular physique he possessed and the jet-black locks. In fact, the only thing missing was the curlicue and spandex. His face seemed sharp, the dark brown eyes lending a bit of mystery and danger to a man that thrived on secrets.

Like many agents with the Central Intelligence Agency, he appeared to carry an unseen weight on his shoulders; one Neal was intimately familiar with. The dark bags under his eyes only accentuated that, although Neal was sure he looked much the same. It had been too long since he had gotten a good night's rest. He watched as the man swirled his own scotch around in the glass, the dark amber-colored liquid flowing slowly down the sides.

Neal did not break out the hard liquor often, having come to prefer wine over the past few years, but when he did it usually heralded heavy conversation. Either that, or heavy hands, but that would most certainly not be the case here. And for Shaw, that might not be the case for a while, if the pain the man seemed to be in was any indication.

"You've gotten slow." Somehow Shaw made it sound accusing, despite the fact that his voice cracked pathetically towards the end as he shifted the bag of peas on his lap. Neal laughed bitterly, the sound echoing in the small room.

"That was one hell of a shock, Shaw." He leaned back in the wooden chair, reaching out for his own glass of scotch. Eyeing the man he said shrewdly, "Five years is a long time. What are you doing here now? In my apartment."

The man hesitated, which caught Neal's attention, but then said, "Beckman sent me."

"You're working with Beckman now? When did that happen?" Neal was shocked.

"After the Intersect 2.0 incident," Shaw said, and Neal's eyes widened. "Beckman wanted someone intimately familiar with the way the Ring worked, and she bought me in."

The mention of the Intersect had surprised him, since the odd computer was such as closely guarded secret–with good reason. The Intersect system was a huge computer system that held information encoded in pictures, in particular government information and intelligence. It contained data from every federal agency there was, and more than a few agencies that were not supposed to exist. However, a majority of the data had been collected by the Central Intelligence Agency and the National Security Agency. After 9/11, the two agencies had been ordered to share all intelligence. Since they needed a place to store huge amounts of data, they had needed a way to compress and analyze the information quickly. What the NSA had not known was that the CIA had already been in the process of creating such a system.

The Intersect Project, as it had been called, had been headed by the brilliant computer scientist Stephen Bartowski. The idea was to place the information as pictures within pictures, where one picture was made of thousands of others. By encoding the information that way, they would have the ability to download the data into a human subject, like an external flash drive would store information–subliminal imaging, in other words. Having been studying the subject intensely at Stanford University, a much younger Bryce Larkin had been recruited to both the project and the Agency after his teacher had spotted his interest. While everyone was aware that the CIA actively recruited on campuses, it had been a surprise for Bryce to learn that the quiet Professor Flemming was one of those involved.

So, after almost a yearlong clearance process filled with background checks, polygraphs, and medical exams, he had been sent to a large CIA training facility located in Virginia. Affectionately referred to as The Farm, the instructors there had trained him in a wide range of skills, from firearms handling to martial arts and seduction. After his training, he worked full time on the Intersect Project. That work had eventually led him to an approved project of his own creation–the Omaha Project. Named after their base of operations–Omaha, Nebraska–the project was very similar to the Intersect one. The only difference was the type of information encoded in the pictures. Instead of informational data, it stored physical data.

Martial arts, escape and evading techniques, driving skills, languages, art skills, and everything in-between. Techniques and information about each skill had been collected and broken down into millions of pictures within pictures. The potential was staggering. A human downloading the information could have what was essentially hundreds of years of experience across various skill sets at will. They also had the potential to be anyone they wanted, which came in handy for missions with covers. He had called it the Origin system.

And he had worked on both projects until Stephen Bartowski had mysteriously disappeared, with the rogue intelligence agencies Fulcrum and the Ring suddenly appearing shortly afterward. Immediately, the Intersect Project had been shelved, while the Omaha Project had been accelerated. They already had all the intelligence they needed on the groups; all they needed was a way to stop them. Unfortunately, the Intersect project had been compromised, and it was decided to just destroy it. So, the situation had literally blown up, with his help, of course. He had, however, been able to save a copy of the computer, and he sent it to who he thought could deal with it–Stephen Bartowski's son, and his friend from Stanford, Chuck. Then he was shot by NSA Agent John Casey, which had not been fun. His chest hurt just remembering it.

"So, you work with…." he trailed off, the word catching in his throat, but Shaw seemed to understand what he was trying to say.

"Chuck and Sarah? Saying their names won't kill you." Shaw looked amused. "Although, I have to ask."

"Yes…"

"Why aren't you dead?" It was asked so bluntly that Neal flinched back. "Last I heard, Bryce Larkin had been shot in the chest and killed by the Ring. I must admit, it was a bit of a surprise, even for me, to hear that you were still alive. From the way Sarah and Chuck recounted it, and the reports I read, it was a pretty convincing death. How many times have you 'died' now, anyway?"

"Too many," Neal replied, his jaw muscles jumping. The first time he had been shot and killed, he had actually been killed. But he had been brought back to life, purely because Fulcrum thought he was the Intersect. At the time, the lie had been the only thing keeping him alive and the real Intersect, his old friend Chuck Bartowski, safe.

"Did you know that Sarah even went to Lisbon to bury your ashes? I assumed at the time that she went off grid for Chuck, but lo and behold, it was for Bryce Larkin. She was pretty cut up about it, too," Shaw remarked as he picked up a coin that was lying on the table. The dark-haired man slouched back against his seat and began to spin the quarter around his fingers. Neal stayed tense in his own seat, waiting to hear the inevitable question. Suddenly, the movement stopped, and dark brown eyes gazed into Neal's grey ones before Shaw spoke.

"This means she never knew the Intersect room was a set up." He set the coin down, and then leaned over the table towards Neal. "I wonder, how did you keep such a big secret from them?"

"She wouldn't have left Chuck," Neal said simply. "I saw no reason to tell her, and besides, compartmentalization was important in this case. The Ring was getting a bit too close for comfort, and the Roark situation screwed everything up. So, we needed to get Chuck to upload 2.0."

Neal shifted his attention to the bookcase, where the Bordeaux bottle sat. Staring at it always relaxed him for some reason. The current conversation was painful, and the memories were even worse.

"From past experience, we knew he could handle it, despite the fact that it was different than the others." He scowled at nothing in particular, then continued, "And there was no way Chuck would willingly download the program again. He'd just gotten it out. Plus, with me going undercover again, there was no guarantee that I wouldn't get killed. Beckman wanted another Intersect out there sooner rather than later."

"But you had previous experience, also," Shaw pointed out. "With 'Origin', right? You guys put it in 2.0."

Neal grimaced and said, "We had to. In fact, the original plan had been to add it to the first Intersect, but then Fulcrum decided to interfere."

"And the plan blew up."

"The Intersect blew up," Neal reminded him. He tipped his chair back onto its legs and continued. "I hadn't worked on that project yet, though. The NSA was wary about Omaha and, well, you've met Casey. He isn't exactly fond of us CIA agents."

A large grin crossed Shaw's face when he caught the undeniable resentment carefully hidden in his friend's voice. NSA Agent John Casey was always a sore topic for Bryce Larkin, but that may have been due to the NSA agent shooting him. Shaw figured he himself would be rather pissed, to say the least. It just wasn't the same as shooting yourself in the shoulder, that was for sure.

"Casey has softened a bit over the years, you know," he said, ignoring Neal's expression of disbelief. "Not a lot, mind you, but he doesn't feel like shooting me anymore, which is a big difference, trust me."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Neal muttered, releasing a small snort of laughter.

"Which will hopefully be never," Shaw commented under his breath. Uncomfortably shifting the ice bag in his lap again, he asked, "Hadn't you downloaded the program by then?"

"Only Kate and I had been able to download Origin like the Intersect. Sarah had been scheduled to the following year, then the plan obviously changed. We wanted to be sure it was safe before more people used it, and Kate volunteered," Neal said, a frown marring his features. "It was safe, of course, but we had to be positive it worked. Kate and I began to test it in the field, posing as different aliases we created to fit the profiles. You probably know that the CIA had already started to build up our reputations."

"Operation Cascade, right? You were looking for Ring connections in the criminal underground."

"It wasn't originally The Ring we were looking for," Neal admitted. "At first, it was to monitor potential terrorists operating in the States. The CIA was wary at first, since usually just the FBI operates domestically. Then Fulcrum and The Ring came along, and our mission changed a bit."

"As did mine," Shaw said, and he began tapping his fingers against the table, contemplating all that Neal had confessed to him. Beckman hadn't mentioned much to him about Omaha or Cascade. She'd really only given him the files, which he'd perused during the flight over from California. He knew it was highly classified information, and reading it on a plane packed with people was never a good idea. At least he got to catch up on some sleep. "So this was all before the Intersect blew up?"

"Well, Graham was in charge of the project, but after his death Beckman took over. Technically, I'm a liaison officer between the CIA and the NSA, since Beckman has full control over the operation. I also work for the FBI as a consultant, which you already know," Neal said as he ran his hands through his hair in frustration, messing the coiffed 'do even more than it already was. He felt like he couldn't sit anymore, so he got up and shoved his chair back. "I have to be careful to avoid anyone that I might have worked with before. Trust me, that's more difficult than you might think."

Shaw watched his friend move to stand in front of one of the glass-paned doors in the apartment and cross his arms almost defensively. There was something Neal was upset about, other than avoiding agents. Shadows concealed the man's face from Shaw's position slouched on a chair, so he couldn't get a good read on his facial expression. However, Neal's body language spoke for him. After five minutes of silence, Shaw finally broke it by asking softly, "Why am I here, Bryce?

There was a long extended paused, before Neal spoke reluctantly, "During the last case we ran into a problem." He turned to glance at Shaw. "I had a bit of a run-in with a sedative."

"You were sedated?" Shaw said, his eyes suddenly dancing with laughter as he leaned forward over the table. He paused though, and grimaced when the movement jarred his injury. "From what I remember, Bryce Larkin and sedatives don't mix well. At the Farm, we always called you 'Loose–'"

"–'Lips Larkin'. Yes, I know," Neal said, rolling his eyes as if used to the name. "I'm a spy, Dan, not an idiot. And it's Neal Caffrey, not Bryce Larkin. You should know that by now."

"Right, sorry," Shaw muttered, not sounding sorry at all. "So I'm guessing you let something slip then. Must be serious if you had to contact us."

"Chuck," Neal just said miserably.

"What about Chuck, Neal?" Shaw asked. He had gone from joking to serious in a matter of seconds.

"I mentioned Chuck," Neal choked out, finally turning back around. His eyes were slightly wild, even though he tried to keep his emotions calm.

"Just the name?" Shaw questioned from his chair, an expression of confusion contorting his face. "If it was just his name, shouldn't a little damage control be enough?"

"No, I also told Peter that I got Chuck kicked out of Stanford. Mentioned something about General Beckman, then I told him that I got shot. Hell, I even talked about Sarah!" Neal exclaimed as he began to pace in front of the table again. He glared at Shaw. "And you don't know Peter like I do."

Shaw winced while he listened to Neal's small rant. This put an unpleasant spin on things, although he figured it really was inevitable after five years of Bryce being undercover.

"Well, he's an FBI agent. I assume he'll investigate; after all, it's called the Federal Bureau of Investigation for a reason, Neal. But you're worried that the cover won't hold up, am I right?" Shaw asked, and then thought a bit more. "No, that can't just be it. There's something more," he continued slowly, cocking his head as he assessed his friend. Suddenly, it was like a light bulb went off inside the agent's head. "It's Peter, isn't it? You've become 'friends', and when Peter does find out who you really are, you're worried that it won't be the same."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Neal snapped, not looking at his guest. The pacing stopped, and Neal had his back to Shaw again.

"Ah, but I think you do," Shaw declared. He spoke more softly, "I know how it is, Neal. I've played the game. Spies are supposed to trust no one, yet you've begun to trust Peter Burke like you trusted Chuck. Am I right?"

Stormy grey eyes suddenly bored into his, and Neal walked towards Shaw, practically spitting fire. He placed his hands on the chair's armrests, effectively trapping him and asked, "What do you know about trust, Shaw? From what I remember, you never trusted anyone but Eve."

"I know more about it than you think," Shaw said lowly, his face contorted in pain. It wasn't a physical pain, but a mental pain. The fight left Neal at those words. His face screwed up in an expression of sorrow, and he released the chair before backing away and opened his mouth to apologize, but Shaw harshly cut him off. "Don't. Just don't. Forget it."

"Right," Neal whispered, miserably watching his old instructor slouch deeper into the chair. That comment had been out of line. Furthermore, he knew it wasn't a topic he should have bought up. The larger man's mask was already firmly in place by the time he sat back down, and silence filled the room again. Neal watched as Shaw moved the bag of peas.

"Have you heard from Kate lately?"

The calmly spoken question startled him slightly; as a consequence, it took him a moment to respond.

"Yes, actually. She had a break in the case, apparently," Neal said slowly, then strode over to the couch where he kept the book he needed. He dug it out and flipped to the page where there was an entry. Just from looking at the worn paper when Neal brought the book over to the table, Shaw could tell the page had been viewed a lot.

A single entry covered the whole page, and as he skimmed the information, he caught Neal's eyes, then asked incredulously, "A music box? What do they want with that?"