FBI New York City Field Office Headquarters

New York

"How much do you love me, boss?" Lauren Cruz's brilliant smile lit up her light, olive complexion as she beamed with glowing, personal satisfaction. Neal glanced at the file in her hand, a seeming end to four hours of personal headache clearly in sight.

"Hopefully you found Dana Scully's whereabouts," Peter held out his hand for the file as Lauren's smile broadened with more than a bit of self-accomplishment.

"I did indeed. Dr. Dana Katherine Scully is one of the resident neurologists at Our Lady of Sorrows Hospital in Richmond. It's a Catholic institution, works primarily with the poor and hard luck cases. She's been there for the last five years."

"Than why in the hell was she so hard to find," Peter grumbled as Neal rolled his chair alongside to glance at the file over Peter's shoulder. He earned a dark glare from the agent for it, but was too impatient to wait his turn.

"Dr. Scully left the FBI under suspicious circumstances herself in 2002, though no one was willing to cough up the reason why. All I got was that she was not accused of any particular wrong doing, and that she and the FBI parted ways amicably." Something about Lauren's raised eyebrows and doubtful tone said she didn't believe everything was as pleasant and cheerful as she was being led to believe. "I got a whole list of wonderful, glowing praise on her, so much I wondered if I should get a clothes pin and start shovel that pile."

"Makes you wonder why the FBI is willing to heap praise on her head, but acts as if Fox Mulder had leprosy." Neal leaned back in his chair thoughtfully. Something about all of this didn't add up. The FBI was begging to get back an agent they hated so much they hid every trace of his existence from even their own fellow agents. And yet his former partner, who worked the very same cases as he did, got glowing reviews. Why?

"Someone was trying to appease somebody, but I'm not about to start pissing off OPR and trying to ask why." Peter clearly had the same reservations but less of an interest in pursuing them. "So have you called down the hospital to speak to her?"

Here Lauren's please delight faded slightly, her bottom lip catching behind her teeth. "First thing when I got the information."

"And?" Peter already sounded as if he wasn't going to like this.

"Dr. Scully is out of town at a medical conference this week."

"Son-of-a…." Lauren cringed slightly under Peter's mild oath, eyeing the pen he flicked across his desk with worry.

"Did they say where she was," he barked in frustration.

"No," she sighed, the shine wearing quickly off of her big break.

"And did you tell them you were Agent Cruz with the FBI?"

"Of course," Lauren wasn't so cowed by her boss's irritation to not snap back at him for thinking she would forget the obvious. "But the switchboard was manned by nuns."

"Nuns?" Peter blinked blankly at Lauren's excuse, glancing between her knowing look and the low, understanding whistle emanating from Neal, who shook his head and slouched into his chair.

"What about nuns?" Peter specified his question now, clearly not getting whatever secret sympathy passed between his consultant and his junior agent.

"You never went to Catholic school, eh Peter?" Neal winced in commiseration with Lauren at the long ago memories.

"My family when they bothered to be religious were Methodists, am I missing something? Do nuns eat children? Keep torture chambers in the basement?"

"I thought Sister Mary Alice did," Lauren breathed, eyes wide in remembered childhood fear. "They used to say if she looked at you while talking in class it was like God himself was watching each and every one of your sins."

"Why do you think I got into art forgery," Neal laced his long fingers behind his head. "All the hours Sister Margaret, my fifth grade teacher made me sit and stare at a picture of the Virgin while repeating the Hail Mary a hundred times for penance. You got to know the Virgin real well by then."

"Somehow I'm not surprised," Peter's glared sideways at Neal's unabashed grin, frowning up at his agent. "So let me guess, the iron maidens didn't fork over the information on where to find Dr. Scully?"

"They were more than willing to direct me to her boss, a Father Ybarra, but warned he wouldn't be any more forthcoming than they were. Short of a warrant, they weren't planning on giving it up."

"Figures," Peter sighed, scrubbing at his face briefly, rising from his desk. "All right, it looks like the good doctor is a dead end, perhaps we'll see if we can't do a little political leaning on Assistant Director Skinner. I think maybe Hughes has some leverage, maybe he can speak to him."

"You sure we have to give up the Scully angle," Cruz's shoulder's slumped in disappointment. Neal couldn't blame her, she had pulled out the only small victory they had in an afternoon full of dead ends.

Peter slipped his coat from the back of his chair, shaking his head. "You prepared to track down every possible medical conference that she could be at?"

Medical conference! The words penetrated into Neal's brain, clicking finally as he nearly kicked himself for being so slow on the uptake today. "She doesn't have to."

"She doesn't have to what?" Peter paused, one arm stuck partially in its sleeve, hope rekindling briefly under the layers of frustration.

"What do you mean?"

"Elizabeth," Neal straightened with excitement, a break finally opening to them they didn't have before.

Clearly Peter was missing the pieces that Neal was seeing. "My wife? What about her?"

"Elle is working a medical conference…a neurological medical conference." A grin crept across Neal's face, meeting a matching one on Lauren's. "How much you want to bet our illustrious Dr. Scully is at that event?"

"And how likely is it that there is another event in the country hosting specifically neurologists." Lauren supplied, clearly pleased that all of her work might pay off after all.

Neal was already running with the idea, their problem seemingly solved. "All we would have to do is get a hold of Elle, see if she can check with the hotel…"

"No." Like a disapproving father, Peter's negative rang sharply to cut off Neal before he even got started.

"No," Neal stared up at the senior agent wonderingly. "Peter it's a lead, you can't just ignore…"

"I don't need my wife to do investigative work for me."

"It's not investigative work, it's simple information gathering, Peter. We use informants to do that for us all the time."

"Elizabeth is at that conference for business, her business, and it took her a damn long time to get that bid. I've worked hard to make it so my job doesn't effect everything she's worked for, hell knows Garrett Fowler's made that job a hell of a lot harder for me." Peter did have a point, Fowler had so far stopped at nothing to make Peter's home life with Elizabeth more difficult in his effort to force both Peter and Neal's hands. "I don't want Elizabeth involved any more than is necessary, and this isn't necessary."

"This case comes straight from the Director, Peter….Senator Whitmore…." Neal grasped frantically at anything he thought could sway his handler. Not that Peter lacked a point, Neal preferred to keep Elizabeth out of their work as much as possible, but in this, when she had access…

"And what is she supposed to say to the hotel management? Excuse me, give me a list of your guests, my husband is with the FBI and is looking for one of them? No!" Peter shoved his remaining arm into his jacket, snatching up the file on his desk. "No Elizabeth, Neal, I don't care if she can drag Dr. Scully down here for us. I want her out of this…clear?"

Neal met Peter's firm glare for a moment, contemplating argument, but sliding instead. As a con artist he had learned long ago that sometimes it was better to bend rather than hold fast, and wait for a different opportunity to present itself. Besides, the different opportunity had already presented itself. He smiled quietly as Peter stormed out of his office and next door to the office of the department head, Reese Hughes.

Lauren watched Peter go before cutting suspicious eyes at Neal's far to pleased look. "You heard the man, if he finds out you talked to Elle…."

"He said not to talk to Elizabeth, I'm not going to." Neal reached for his cell phone, flipping it open and dialing without looking. "How often do I break a promise to Peter?"

"You mean in the last week or so?" Lauren's disapproving look turned to wry amusement. Neal ignored her as he slipped the phone to his ear and waited for the pick up. It didn't take long, soft, piano music filtered across the loudspeaker, broken by Mozzie's unctuous tones.

"Did you know that you can pair caviar to different wines to bring out the subtle hints of flavor that help you tell the difference not only in where the grapes were grown, but when, and in what soil?"

"How much of that wine have you been drinking?" Neal bit back a smirk at Lauren's curiosity.

"I'm having a good time, Caffery, what dregs do you need me to muck out now?" Obviously Mozzie had been drinking, it was rare he was ever this surly with Neal about anything.

"You still at the hotel helping Elle?"

"Who do you think the angel is that set me up with this fine spread?"

Neal wondered if he should warn Peter that Moz was in love with his wife.

"Look, I need a favor out of you. You think you can get your hands on the hotel guest list for this conference?"

"Piece of cake," Moz murmured around a mouthful of something, Neal surmised the afore-mentioned caviar. "Besides, I think the woman at the front desk likes me."

"Drink enough of that stuff, Moz, you might be able to get her out on a date." Neal grinned. "I'm looking for a specific guest at the conference…a Dana Scully."

"Scully…like the baseball announcer."

"I guess," Neal knew nothing about any sport. "For the Yankees?"

"Dodgers, Caffrey, my old man was a Dodger fan from way back when they were still in Brooklyn. Before they picked up stakes and moved to Los Angeles."

"That's nice, Moz, see if you can find out if she's there and give me a call. " Neal shot Lauren a thumb's up signal, earning a pleased smile as the younger agent waved her thanks and moved out of Peter's office. Neal waited till she was well away from the door before putting in his next request. "And when you get a chance, I need you to go back into the FBI files for me."

"Back again, what am I, your personal hack monkey?"

"You were just in there digging up Fowler's files, you can slip in again." Nothing like stroking Mozzie's ego to get him to comply.

"Who is it this time, another OPR crony of Fowler's?"

"No, same person, Dana Scully. She's ex-FBI, I want the records on her and her old partner, Fox Mulder. He's who we are really after, but we can't get to him without getting to her first. And this whole thing smells funny, Moz, and I want to know why."

"Couldn't you just look it up in their service records?"

"Would I be asking you for this if I could." The wine was making Moz irritable. "Look, this is a big case, it could reflect on Peter and the fact that he got me out of prison to work here. I need for us to look as good as possible so the Justice Department doesn't spontaneously decide to rescinded my ankle wear and send me back to prison."

Moz was silent for several moments before heaving a long-suffering sigh. "The things I do for you, Neal."

"You're better than my own mother," Neal smiled winningly, despite the fact Moz couldn't see it. Moz could probably hear it all the same.

"So Dana Scully and…Fox Mulder?"

"That's the one."

"Who in the hell names their kid Fox," Moz muttered, as if writing down the names. "OK, the files will take me a couple of days, but the rest I can get for you tonight."

"You're an angel, Moz."

"Will you buy me wine and caviar too?"

"Maybe if I started charging higher consulting fees. See you tonight." He clicked off, grinning to himself. He'd followed the letter of Peter's demand, if not the spirit. Hopefully Peter wouldn't get too irritated by the details.