Disclaimer: If these characters belonged to me, they all would run and hide to the farthest reaches of the Earth to escape my sadistic mind.
~O~
Blood Drops On a White Rose
Chapter Two
By the next morning, the strange feeling from the night before was mostly forgotten as Neal stepped off the elevator onto the twenty-first floor. The sudden hustle and bustle around the office after days of little to do but paperwork only served to further push the event from his mind.
Glancing up at the glass wall of the conference room, he spotted Peter, Clinton, and Diana discussing something with Hughes. Agent Ruiz and two other men – agents, most likely, by the way they were dressed – that Neal hadn't met before were also there. The conversation seemed to be rather heated, from what Neal could tell from body language alone. Diana had her arms crossed as she glowered across the table at one of the two men he didn't know; Peter had his hands on his hips in his default stance, frustration obvious in the firm set of his jaw. Despite standing with one hand leaning on the file strewn table, the only hint of weariness shown as Peter tried – and apparently failed – to make his point, Hughes still managed to hold authority over the entire room. Ruiz seemed to be arguing just as hard as Peter was, while the unknown men just stood there as back-up. Jones seemed to be the least effected by the events transpiring before him, though he was also just generally better at hiding his ire.
As soon as Clinton saw Neal walk into the bullpen, he set off for the conference room door. He opened it and stepped out, beckoning Neal forward. "Caffrey."
Ever one to quench his curiosity, Neal followed Clinton without qualm.
". . . 's obviously a White Collar case," Peter was saying as Neal entered the room.
"Three security guards were killed, brutally. It's Violent Crimes', Burke," was Ruiz's reply. Neal had been right about a disagreement going on between them, apparently about jurisdiction of a particular case.
"Isn't the VC unit already working a mid-profile case?" Diana shot back. "The Webcam Killer. How's that going for you?"
Webcam Killer? Neal thought. He didn't recognize that name. He would have to remember to ask about that one later.
Ruiz ignored Diana's sardonic second question and instead focused on dismissing the first. "My team can handle more than one case at a time. Come on Hughes, this conversation is pointless. You know as well as I do whose case this should be."
"You both make a valid point," Hughes replied as diplomatically as possible, seeming to be on the edge of frustration. "But the higher-ups are insisting on encouraging inter-departmental relations. They want both teams working together on this case. And I do stress together. I don't want this becoming some kind of pissing contest. Are we clear?"
A silent moment passed, filled with grumbling that was mostly implied rather than voiced, before Peter and Ruiz both – begrudgingly and reluctantly – agreed to the terms. Reece dismissed them, then headed off to his office.
Taking his chance, Neal moved to stand beside Peter. "So, what's the case?" he asked, breaking the silence. He instantly had the room's attention.
"A robbery at The Metropolitan Museum of Art," was Peter's distracted reply. He seemed to be deep in thought and – dare Neal think it – pouting, just a little bit, though Neal was sure that he was the only one to notice that. "Four guards were stabbed repeatedly, three died at the scene, the other remains in critical condition."
"What was stolen?" he asked solemnly, ignoring the looks he was getting from the two Violent Crimes agents he didn't know. He reached out to pick up one of the folders lying on the conference room table.
"Tullio Lombardo's Adam."
Neal nearly choked in his shock, but the only outward sign of his surprise was a few second pause in his breathing. "As in the fifteenth century venetian marble statue that was accidentally smashed into hundreds of pieces back in 2002, then underwent a twelve year restoration period before finally being redisplayed in the Met starting six months ago until June, in which it will begin its world tour. That Adam?"
"That's the one." Peter raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. Everyone in the White Collar division was used to Neal's encyclopedic knowledge of the art world.
"Wow. I'd be impressed if whoever it was didn't have to kill to get it."
One of the Violent Crimes agents scoffed scornfully, making Neal to frown slightly in bemusement. He wasn't sure what had caused that reaction to his words, but he didn't bother asking, as the sound seemed to break Peter of his reverie and remind him of the other parties in the room with him.
"Oh, Neal, I don't know if you've met them yet or not. This is Special Agents Hendricks and Abbot of the Violent Crimes Unit," Peter introduced, indicating each to their name.
Hendricks had short blonde hair – cut in a close crew, slightly tanned skin, and a very prominent jaw line; the angle of his brow bone gave the impression that he was always angry. An ex-military man, Neal figured, judging by his stance and posture. Marine, maybe. Abbot's jet black hair was slightly longer and his skin paler, like he usually spent too much time indoors. His blue-green eyes held a sharply calculating gaze. Both men wore cheap suits – something Mozzie had declared as the standardized dress code of all FBI "goons" – and looked to be in their mid to late thirties to early forties. Hendricks' suit was neat, a faded black set with a ghastly green tie, but seemed almost messy compared to Abbot's meticulously straight light grey suit and deep blue tie.
Neal kept his observations from his expression with the ease of many years of practice, offering his most charming smile and a hand to shake. "Pleasure to meet you."
Abbot wordlessly blew him off, glancing away disinterestedly, but Hendricks stepped forward and took his hand. An obviously fake half-smile crossed the agent's face as he seemed to try and crush Neal's hand, arching his shoulders and puffing out his chest in an unconscious show of dominance and intimidation. Or maybe not so unconscious, Neal thought to himself.
"So you're the infamous Neal Caffrey. Hm, you're smaller than I thought you'd be," Hendricks said, by way of greeting, releasing Neal's hand, but not stepping back.
Neal blinked, not sure how to reply to that. His first instinct was to make a clever remark about how being smaller made it easier to squeeze out of tight places, but he held his tongue, figuring Hendricks for a man who didn't appreciate sarcasm unless voiced by himself alone. Neal's smile never faltered – he was all about first impressions – and a second later, Hendricks continued anyway.
"So how does it feel working for the law you used to make a career of breaking?" This man had obviously already decided he didn't like Neal, but Neal was determined to try and change his opinion. Neal allowed his charming smile to morph into an earnest expression.
Snide question, meet honest answer. "It has its benefits. The rewards are a lot less monetary and materialistic, but I get to help people instead of hurt them. Plus, I get the privilege to work with one of the best agents the bureau's ever had." Neal said the last part with the smallest of playful grins, inclining his head in Peter's direction. He caught the corner of Peter's mouth twitching upwards in his peripheral vision, before his partner pursed his lips to keep from smiling. Hendricks, however, looked stumped by Neal's reply.
Before anyone could respond, though, Ruiz cleared his throat to get their attention. "Don't you two have work to do?" he asked his men, and a second later they both marched out of the room without another word. Ruiz soon followed after.
"Nice to meet you, too," Neal mumbled once they were out of earshot.
Peter smirked, clapping the younger man on the back. "Don't feel too bad, Neal. That actually went better than I had expected." When Neal quirked a questioning eyebrow, Peter elaborated. "Hendricks and Abbot have both been rather loud in their protests against ex-convicts being taken on as consultants."
"You never know, maybe I can change their minds about it," he replied, remembering Agent Hendricks' reaction to Neal's comment.
"If you manage to change either of their minds by the time we finish this case, I'll buy you lunch every day for a week."
Challenge accepted, Neal thought, seeing what Peter was doing. "I'll take that deal." While the bet may have been offered in jest, the reasons behind it ran much deeper. It gave Neal a new problem to work out along with the case, keeping Neal happily occupied, while also, hopefully, broadening the views of FBI agents that might otherwise remain blinded by their own misconceptions.
Changing the subject back to the case at hand, Neal said, "So, White Collar and Violent Crimes working together. . ."
"Yup."
"It's going to turn into a race for the finish line, isn't it?"
"Oh yes."
Neal grinned, straightening his tie. "Well then, let's get to work."
To be continued. . .
Author's Note: 11/22/2014 (Edited 7/18/2015 for quality) I hope you all aren't disappointed that my 'generic Neal whump' story has evolved into an actual plot-line/case-fic. I will attempt to make it as entertaining as possible until the whump arrives ;D Lastly, I am floored by how many followers this story already has from just one little chapter. Fifty-six in only twenty-eight days! Wow! Until next time! Love you all! Take care! God bless!
-TheOneThatGotAway99
