Author's Note: Hazah! It is here! I'm still trying to nail down timelines a bit. I think this is sometime within season four – I will be referencing events from the first three to four seasons *spoiler alerts! – but it will not focus on any of the goings ons of that season. We'll just put a big, vague 'season four-ish' sticker on this bad boy right now. As for the case, I have done some research into the statue and other marble works (and various things that I won't mention until later and that has me thankful the FBI can't look at my search history without probable cause) and studied the museum map of the Met, but everything else is pretty much entirely made up. My research goes more into the later chapters, this is just a stepping stone to that. Also, I added another little beginning 'peak' piece. Enjoy!

~O~

Neal Caffrey let loose a sob.

Peter wasn't sure which hurt him more, listening as Neal screamed himself hoarse or sobbed himself into an exhausted half-sleep.

It was late into the night, but the White Collar office was still bustling, as close to frantic as FBI Agents could get. Searching for one of their own. Peter would have felt proud of his team, if he wasn't so consumed with worry for his partner.

Peter looked up at the image on the screen, at his partner cowering and crying in a corner God only knew where. He had been left alone for the night, whatever small mercy that was. Even with how reliant his young partner was on human interaction, isolation was better than the tortures Neal was being put through.

Torture.

Because that's what it was, actions meant only to bring another person pain; torture in its purest, cruelest form.

A sound had Peter's frayed focus solidified once more onto the scene of his best friend's suffering. It took him a moment to realize that sound was Neal mumbling to himself, his voice strained and rough and so completely un-Neal that it was another few seconds before he could make out the words. What he heard broke his heart for what must have been the hundredth time that day.

"Peter's coming for me. Peter'll find me. He's coming."

He repeated it like a mantra, a confident verse resonating again and again. Neal had complete faith in Peter, knew without a doubt that he would find him and save him from that hell.

But Peter was no closer to finding him than when he had first started. No closer to uncovering who was behind it all. No closer to stopping the agony his friend was being put through. No closer. . .

For the moment, all he could do was watch, knowing that Neal's pain was at least partially his fault.

~O~

Blood Drops On a White Rose

Chapter Three

As much as Neal didn't like walking up to crime scenes – well, crime scenes that are crime scenes because of death or violence as opposed to spectacular thefts or daring escapes – he couldn't deny the flicker of glee inside himself every time a CS tech or federal agent lifted the yellow tape for him to duck under.

When he'd first become Agent Burke's CI, the only person who would lift the tape for him was Peter. The rest of the time, Neal did it himself without a second thought; sometimes he would even hold it for Peter, Diana, and Clinton, as well as other agents, to go before or follow after him. Ever the gentlemen, after all.

But as the other agents got used to him being around, started seeing him less as ex-convict got lucky and more as an asset, colleague, and, even, friend, he found doors opened and tape lifted for him far more often.

Though he would likely never admit it aloud, it made him feel important and, secretly, like he belonged. That feeling was only enhanced with the knowledge that it was truly earned and not merely gained through cons and lies.

He tried not to let it make him wonder what things would have been like if he had followed through with his childhood dream of becoming a police officer. Those were thoughts he'd rather not deal with sober. Or, at all.

As Peter and he walked up to the taped-off entrance of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Neal's thoughts were consumed with the case – or, what little he knew of it so far. He felt the usual gleam of childish glee as an agent lifted the crime scene tape for him and Peter to step under. He nodded his thanks to the burly agent before following Peter through the entrance hall and into the great staircase.

Unbidden, his mind cataloged the security measures and exit strategies of the space around him, taking in the security cameras, sensors, alarm triggers, and such, as well as counting the number of guns currently in the room. He quickly switched mental tracks and ended up thinking about all the priceless treasures that lay on the floors above, but figured that train of thought probably wasn't any better, so he focused on figuring out how he would have stolen the Adam if it had been his job.

As they made their way through the Medieval Art exhibit into the European Art room, and Neal was confronted with the sickening smell of drying blood, he couldn't help but think there certainly would have been at least one major difference if he had been the thief. Nobody would have died, that's for sure.

The bodies of the three dead security guards had already been removed from the scene, numerous puddles of congealing blood clearly indicating where each had lain even better than the crime scene markers specifying each one.

Neal noticed Peter frown in confusion before the older man turned to one of the agents and asked where the bodies were, to which the other agent responded with "Coroner sent them off."

"I am lead agent on this case, those bodies were not to be removed until I had arrived on the scene." He huffed out a breath, looking around in frustration before focusing back on the poor agent. "Why wasn't I notified?"

Confused frown and worried eyes met Peter's frustration as the young agent spluttered. "But, the other agent . . ."

"Burke."

Neal stiffened slightly at the sudden voice and saw Peter clench his jaw in response before spinning around.

"Ruiz," Peter returned coolly. Taking the sudden distraction as his cue, the young agent Peter had been grilling wisely decided to skitter away while he could, going unnoticed by everyone but Neal. "I'm lead on this case. Why did you dismiss the bodies before I got here?"

Agent Ruiz stepped closer to Peter, and Neal could tell from his body language – straightening of his spine, leaning forward ever so slightly, maintaining eye contact, carefully composed facial expression – Ruiz was trying to intimidate the agent. Neal could also tell that it wasn't working. "You may be lead on the theft, but the bodies are mine. This should have been my case. It's only on Hughes' orders that I'm letting you into my crime scene."

Not giving any time to reply, Ruiz marched away and out the door.

A moment passed before Neal took it upon himself to break the tense silence. "Well, I can see interdepartmental relations are going well."

Peter's responding huff made him sound oddly like a bull snorting, but it was more of amused agreement than annoyance, so Neal counted it as a win.

They made their way into the statue room where they found another puddle of blood next to an empty pedestal. A number of agents roamed and loitered around the room, some collecting evidence, some discussing the case. A trio of them moved towards Neal as soon as they spotted him, and Neal recognized Agent Hendricks. The other two, one male and one female, he didn't know, but he guessed them to be the rest of Ruiz's Violent Crimes unit. They all stopped just a few feet away from him and Peter.

"So that's Caffrey?" sneered the female, and Neal had to repress a sigh. Another someone who dislikes me before we've even met. . .

"Baker," Peter acknowledged, the smallest trace of weariness in his tone that Neal was sure only he heard. "Glad to see you're back in the field again. How's the shoulder?"

Agent Baker's sneer fell from her face as she turned to Peter. "Fully recovered." Something in her tone struck Neal as odd, but he couldn't quite place what it was. She gave a curt nod, fiery red hair bouncing slightly, before she indicated Neal. "Should he be here? Seems like an awful lot of temptation for someone like him."

"I think I can contain myself," Neal responded with a small, reassuring smile. Choosing to speak for himself and insert himself into the conversation. After all, he did have a bet to win. For once, honesty might truly be the best policy. "Three people died because of this, and one still might. I'm not going to mess around with this. I'm here to help."

Hendricks, standing just behind Baker, grunted at that, but didn't say anything. His mind seemed to be working hard on the puzzle that was Neal Caffrey. Neal hoped if he gave enough pieces, the agent might see a different picture than the one he'd been imagining and change his opinion of the conman.

"By all means," Baker replied, folding her arms over her chest, only a hint of contempt still audible. "Go right on, then."

He gave a slow nod before turning to the Adam's empty pedestal.

The first thing Neal noticed was the blood, spattered and smudged, on the front of the pedestal. Ignoring the roiling it sent to his stomach, he examined it closer, taking in the pattern before moving on to the fresh scrapes that decorated the top. It looked as though something heavy had been dragged across it.

"How did they get the statue out?" The question directed at Peter, who was watching his progress while examining it himself. "You can't just pick up a seven hundred seventy pound marble statue and walk out with it."

"Forklift. Elevators. Out through the parking garage," Peter said, answering his next two questions without his needing to voice them.

Nodding absently, Neal crouched down as his sharp eyes spotted something. Small wood shavings – like that from screws shaving holes in wood as they are secured in – were scattered on the ground around the stand; a few of them were stuck in the dots of spattered blood, but not under it. That discovery solidified Neal's take on what happened.

"Security footage?" Peter was asking the other agents as Neal ran through the theft in his mind.

Hendricks was the one to answer Peter's question. "Nothing yet. We're sending it to Tech, see if they can work anything out. Tapes were tampered with."

"Inside job?"

Baker answered that time. "Maybe, but not likely. Looks like they just jammed the cameras somehow."

Neal straightened up and stepped back to Peter's side as the conversation came to a close, confident in the information he had gathered.

"Got anything?" Peter questioned.

Neal responded without missing a beat. "They attacked the guard first. Either he surprised them or they surprised him. They built a wood crate around the Adam, probably with fork holes on the sides. Protects the statue and hides it from view. Doing it quickly would be loud though. They attacked the other three guards, probably alerted by the noise, on their way out."

"How do you figure all that?" Baker interjected derisively.

"There's no bloody tire tracks down the hallway, so the security guards had to have been attacked after they'd already passed. Patterns in the blood on the pedestal show that the statue was still there, uncovered, when this man was killed, so he must have been attacked first. Wood shavings on the ground and gouges on the pedestal show that the thieves probably screwed together crate pieces around the statue, likely padded and braced to ensure its safety before lifting and driving it out of here. Boxing it for transport, it's what I would have done," Neal explained, looking mournfully at the pool of blood, again thinking that no one would have died if it had been his heist.

"Wow," said a new voice, and Neal shifted his eyes up to the man hanging just behind Baker and Hendricks. He sounded sincerely impressed, and Neal wondered if maybe not everyone hated him. "You figured all that out in three minutes?"

"That is why Neal is my CI," Peter announced proudly, and Neal couldn't stop the smallest of smiles crossing his lips and the happy up-tilt of his head at his partner's words.

"That was awesome. You're like the Sherlock Holmes of art thefts. You do that all the time?"

"Oh shut up, Lennon," Baker snapped. "Why don't you just marry him."

"Sorry." The man stepped around Hendricks and towards Neal, offering his hand and a friendly smile, both of which Neal gratefully returned. "Keith Lennon, probationary agent, Violent Crimes department."

Lennon couldn't have been more than three or four years older than Neal and was eager in a way that only agents fresh from the academy could be. His suit looked to be about a size too big, which gave him an impression of a kid wearing his father's clothes and made him look younger than he was, as did his slightly shaggy brown hair and excited brown eyes. "Good to meet you Keith Lennon, probationary agent," Neal replied in amusement.

"Lennon, don't you have work to do?" Baker demanded, inadvertently repeating Ruiz's dismissal of Hendricks and Abbot only an hour ago.

Lennon got the hint and backed off, but Peter was the one to speak. "Right, we'll leave you to it then. Neal, let's go follow the thieves' exit route."

Nodding his head in farewell to the three agents, Neal followed Peter back out into the Medieval Art room, right into the main exhibit room, then into the Making Pottery Art exhibit as they headed towards the elevators to the ground floor. As soon as they were out of earshot of the roving, random agents, Neal turned to Peter. "Blood stains marble," he informed in a low voice so as not to be overheard. "Especially when left to set."

"Okay," Peter replied, more to prompt Neal to continue than in understanding.

"The guard's blood had to of gotten on at least the base of the statue before they boxed it up, and unless they plan on displaying it in whatever hidey-hole they have it stashed in, spot it, and wipe it off before it fully sets, it won't be coming off. They won't be able to just bleach restored fifteenth century Venetian marble. They are going to need expert help."

"Let me guess, you know just the man for the job." Peter sent him a knowing smirk. "You have a plan?"

Neal smiled in reply. He loved this, working through problems with Peter, planning ways to catch the bad guys. Thrill of the chase he missed upon occasion; but thrill of the hunt he enjoyed almost more so. "Moz and I can send it down the grapevine that a marble art expert has recently taken up residence here in New York. By the time they discover their mistake, that information will be readily available."

Peter seemed to absorb that for a moment. "How long do you think it will take?"

Neal's eyes wandered as he considered his answer. His gaze caught on a display near them, a square vase in a glass display case. It stood just over a foot tall, made in the late 1880s judging by the visible texture of the porcelain. French design, like most of the pieces in the room. But it was the color that drew his eye. The base coat was a stark white, peaking out mostly at the neck of the vase and along its corner edges, but the main body was painted a deep red that was eerily similar to the puddles of spilt blood congealing on the floor in the other room. Neal looked away. "A day, maybe two. It won't take long."

"Good. Give the little guy a call on our way to the hospital. We should look in on the surviving security guard, see if he's able to talk to us about what happened."

"Okay," Neal agreed.

And with that, the two of them stepped over to the elevators and descended to the ground floor.

To be continued. . .

Author's Notes: 1/31/15 (Edited 7/18/2015 for quality) Right, okay. Sorry for all the OCs in these past two chapters. Ruiz needed a team, so I had to make him one. Hope no one minds too much, but it is important for the story. I will not write from the direct perspective of any of these OCs because stories that do that annoy me to no end.

Anyways, now we are starting to get somewhere. Tell me what you think so far. Any ideas on what might happen? I would very much like to hear your theories as the story progresses. Also, hope you all had a great holiday. That is why this chapter is a month overdue. I couldn't write it over Christmas! ;D On the plus side, it is a particularly long chapter, and delves rather nicely into this little mystery, if I do say so myself. See ya next time! Love ya! Take care all! God bless!

-TheOneThatGotAway99