"You know," Neal began "This really isn't my area of expertise." Peter glanced at him as they exited the office.
"You're kidding, right? It's art theft. "
"You'd never see me on a security tape."
"Well…" Peter started, teasingly. "There was that video in Paris…" Neal snorted.
"That hardly counts. All you could see was my shoulder. And only for a second." Peter shook his head, laughing as they both ducked into the car. "And I would never use guns." Peter chuckled.
"I know. You've told me. About a thousand times."
"Well, it completely changes how you do things. I couldn't just storm in and steal paintings. I had to case the museum, look at the cameras, the security system. These guys aren't doing any of that."
"And that makes them a lot more unpredictable than you were."
"Are you calling me predictable?" Neal snorted. "Seemed to take you long enough to catch me. You would have never caught me if I was 'unpredictable'."
"You know what I mean."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah" Neal mumbled, grinning as he looked out the windshield. Looking down at the case file, he whistled. "The Brooklyn Museum of Art, The Metropolitan, The Frick…These aren't little places, Peter."
"No kidding. But the question is where next? It's been a few days. If they stick to the same pattern they had in London they'll hit a couple more. And soon, too. And then they'll skip town." Neal nodded, looking over the list as they drove to The Metropolitan, the scene of the latest burglary.
Neal was remarkably quiet through most of the meeting with the Director, which unarmed Peter more than the blood and white outlines of human figures. He was more used to those.
"Thank you, Mr. Campbell. The FBI has directed a lot of man-power toward this investigation. We'll get those paintings back, don't worry." The director nodded absently, looking towards the area marked off with police tape.
"Yes. Yes, thank you. Unfortunately, some things can never be brought back." He closed his eyes for a moment, before opening them again, looking back at the two men in front of him. "I'm sorry. I'm horribly morbid, aren't I? I'm just shocked, that's all. When I entered the art world, I didn't expect to see much in the line of bloodshed." He laughed sadly. "Well, I must get back to work. Please call me if you hear anything about our paintings." He shook hands with agent and consultant before walking off towards a group of curators. Peter glanced at his partner, watching him survey the scene for a moment before speaking.
"You in there, Neal?" The younger man's head snapped to look at Peter, blue eyes meeting brown ones.
"Yea. Just thinking." He smiled, but Peter recognized that Neal's façade was crumbling behind those stunning eyes. His mind jumped back to the crime scene, the outlines of bodies and the fact that there wasn't enough of Kate left to trace. He inwardly flinched at the thought.
"What are you thinking about?"
"Just thinking, that's all. Nothing special."
"Neal." Peter's tone was one of warning.
"Well…This isn't exactly how I would have done things."
"We've been over this, Neal." Peter was growing tired of Neal's reiterations.
"I know, I know. There's just something…I just can't exactly figure it out."
"Well, let me know when you do, Sherlock." Neal rolled his eyes dramatically, taking his hat off as he followed Peter to the crime scene, ducking under the caution tape and pulling on the gloves that were handed to him.
"Looks like they were pretty hasty to get outta here." Neal commented, looking at where the painting had formerly hung.
"I noticed."
"Look, they even damaged the wall"
"Hmm." Peter hummed, only with mild interest. "You know, I was more concerned with the two security guards they 'damaged'." Neal closed his eyes, nodding.
"Yeah. It's just-" Peter turned suddenly, meeting Neal's eyes, looking serious and leaning closer as he spoke.
"If you say 'not how I would have done it.' So help me God, I don't know what I'm going to do with you." He stared at Neal for another moment before grinning at him. "Scare ya?"
"I was just thinking, you might have finally snapped, that's all. And trying to figure out how to tell El." This time it was Peter's turn to roll his eyes. They continued to poke around the scene, but the truth was there really wasn't much to see.
After a short while, Peter could see the outlines were getting to Neal. He wondered if Neal was thinking the same sickening thought he had been earlier. Judging by the former con-artist's pale complexion and the way he was avoiding the agent's gaze, he guessed so.
"Well, whaddaya say we go grab some lunch and come up with a game plan?" Neal gave him a relieved look.
"I thought you'd never ask."
The car ride was quiet. The silent despair lurking in Neal's eyes was growing. Peter could see that Neal was starting to come apart again. He pulled off the road, turning into an empty parking lot. Neal looked at him curiously.
"What are you doing?"
"Giving you a minute. Neal, I should have asked, are you ok to do this case?"
"I'm fine…I'm fine, I just-I need some air." He fumbled with his seatbelt and let himself out of the car quickly. Peter did the same, jogging to his partner's side of the car. Neal doubled over, his hands on his knees. His face was flushing and his breathing growing ragged. Peter pushed Neal gently onto the passenger seat, kneeling next to him.
"You're alright. I've gotcha. It's gonna be fine." He rubbed his partner's back in tight circles.
"I'm sorry. I just- the bodies-well, the outlines a-and I thought how-"
"Shhhh. I know, I know. Just relax."
"I can't. I can't. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Peter." He was talking fast, stumbling over his words, his breathing too quick for Peter's comfort. The rest of his words were an undistinguishable flood of syllables as Neal Caffrey, confident con-artist, collapsed into Peter's arms, sliding off the seat. His fingers griped tightly to the agent's biceps, digging in deep enough that Peter was sure it would leave bruises.
"I've got you, its ok. You're gonna be fine, Neal. Its ok, you're safe. You're alright. I've got you." He held the younger man close for the second time in as many days, waiting out the trembling and the hyperventilating. Neal couldn't seem to get close enough to Peter to feel safe. He pressed himself tighter against the agent, shivering as small sobs escaped his lips. Peter leaned back against the car, glad it was sheltering them from the peering eyes of passers-by. After the attack passed, Neal spoke.
"Would you believe me if I told you I was getting better?" Neal asked weakly. Peter looked at him with wide eyes.
"You have got to be kidding me. Neal, you need to talk to someone."
"It's getting better. Besides, it's not like this hasn't happened before." His voice was dark and muffled by Peter's shoulder. The older man's chest tightened at the words. He had never come across any evidence of Neal having a nervous disorder or anything that predisposed him to panic attacks or flashbacks.
"What do you mean by that?"
"It's a long story. Can we just leave it at this? It's the reason I don't like guns."
"Neal."
"I don't wanna talk about it. Haven't I had enough traumatizing experiences lately?" He joked, but the humor fell flat. Peter looked down at him, watching as Neal blushed slightly when his position in the agent's arms registered. "Lunch?"
"Yeah. Besides, if I don't feed you, El'll get mad." He teased lightly, smiling when Neal grinned a little. 'Rule Ten: Let things get back to normal ASAP.'
As they sat at their favorite diner, their conversation drifted across a variety of topics before landing firmly on the case at hand.
"You figure out what's been bothering you?" Peter asked through a mouthful of French dip. Neal sighed.
"Well, right now it's your table manners." Peter mumbled through his sandwich, eliciting a laugh from the consultant. Swallowing, he repeated himself, somewhat more clearly.
"Seriously, though. What is it? And if you say that this isn't how you would be doing things I'm going to throw you back in jail." Neal grinned at the jovial threat.
"Well, if I was doing this…" Peter glared at him from over the rim of his cup.
"Neal, I was serious."
"Me too. I would have gotten the Guggenheim. They wouldn't have passed it up, Peter. They're saving it. Probably for tonight."
AN: Uh oh, I'm venturing into Cliffy territory…don't worry, I'll update soon! As always, please review. :D And don't forget! Please include constructive criticism. You have no idea how helpful it is!
Also: I'd like to include an apology to anyone familiar with museums of NYC. I have never been to 'The City So Nice, They Named It Twice', so my research conducted alongside Professor Google and Dr. Wik I. Pedia. Hopefully it didn't detract from the story too much.