In A Moment

Written, spellchecked, etc. by JanieMarple.

Standard disclaimer: I do not own White Collar, nor any of the characters therein, all non-recognizable characters are not up for grabs. Yes this goes AU and yes there is a pairing in it that is AU. Don't like it? Don't read it. Originally written as a gift for my best friend.


Rae was jittery. Something didn't feel right. So much so that she'd cleaned her Glock 17 this morning. It had been odd for Neal to see her at the table with her sidearm deconstructed, the 9mm bullets out of the magazine, the copper jackets glittering in the flourescent lights of the kitchen.

"How many bullets does it hold?" Neal had asked as Rae reloaded it after she cleaned it.

"Seventeen," Rae had said simply. Seventeen shots. Maybe seventeen people you hoped couldn't shoot back. Neal hated guns, there was something so final about them. But would Rae really ever shoot to kill? He doubted it. Rae would likely wing someone rather than kill them. Rae had saved his life from a gunshot wound, after all. If anybody knew the dangers of guns, she had to.

Rae tried not to pass her jitters on to Peter when he picked Neal up. People usually told her that her instinct to go with her gut was crazy. She was sure Peter was no exception. But something was just... Off. She didn't know what it was. She'd find it, though.

The phone rang as she watched the Taurus head out of the drive. "Hello?" Rae answered.

"Say goodbye," whispered a female voice, followed by a click. Rae immediately dialed Hughes as she raced to pull up a trace on the last call on her computer. It went to voicemail. The call traced to a pay phone two blocks from the office.

"SON OF A BITCH," Rae spat, grabbing the Mustang keys and bolting out the door. She instinctively checked her holster to make sure her pistol was there as she slid behind the wheel, and verified the two extra mags as she turned the key and the Mustang roared to life.

What's it going to take to make up this five minute deficit?

The car shot onto the street, all of Rae's training behind the wheel making the Mustang a black streak slithering down the road.

So help me God, Moreau, you so much as harm a hair on their heads...


Neal was scared as hell. Peter was unconscious. The Taurus was wrecked. And Fowler had no mask on. Clearly they didn't intend to let Neal go after this, not alive. Fowler yanked Neal out of the car and shoved him into the back seat of another car. Kate was sitting there.

Neal didn't know what to do, what to say. "Hello, Neal," Kate said coldly.

"K-kate? What's going on?" Neal asked, trying to grasp onto something.

"Where is it, Neal?" Kate asked, no intention to make Neal comfortable.

"What? Where is what?" Neal asked, frightened and somewhat desparate. Peter wouldn't be coming for him. Not this time. And without his lifeline, Neal was pretty sure he was done.

"Your stash, Neal. The one with the Alexander egg," Kate said flatly, no patience for him. Fowler hit the gas and the car took off. Neal hadn't heard a gunshot. Maybe Peter would be ok. He hoped to God Peter was going to be ok. Elizabeth would kill him if he were the cause of Peter's death.

Fowler looked in the rear view and swore. "Cuff him, Kate," Fowler spat at the back seat, and then took a corner hard. Neal ached to know what was behind them that upset Fowler so. Kate slapped the cuffs on his wrists, shoving him toward his own side of the car. Fowler swore again.

"Goddamn it Kate. You should have done better than this," Fowler yelled angrily. Neal's heart skipped a beat. He didn't dare look out the back window for fear Fowler would just shoot him, stash be damned, but he sure perked up his ears to listen.

That damn car. That damned noisy American car. Rae was behind them.

I have a shot.

"I'll take care of it," Kate hissed, dialing Rae's cell.

"You're dead, Moreau."

"Keep following us, Guinevere, and I'll shoot him myself," Kate spat back at Rae.

"If there's a mark on him when I get him back, mark my words, you're gonna match."

"There's gonna be one mark on him if you don't back off. A bullet in his head," Kate replied, her anger at being crossed coming to the surface and flaring.

"Don't give me a reason to shoot you, Moreau."

"Are you blind, Guinevere? You can't see this pistol? You doubt I'll use it on your precious toy?" Kate demanded. "Back off, or I won't ask again."

Neal's hope took a nose dive as the racing engine became fainter.

"The bottle, Rae!" he yelled, hoping she'd hear it before Kate hung up. Kate hit the button to hang up the phone, striking him with the butt of the pistol. He brought his hands to his face, feeling the blood dripping down his cheekbone from his temple. He knew that had done more damage than it ought to have. He was feeling awfully woozy.

"We need to lose that tracker," Fowler muttered, as they shot over a bridge to the mainland.

"How do we get it off?" Kate demanded. Neal tried to shake his head.

"I don't know," he whispered, cringing as Kate moved to hit him again.

"Cut it," Fowler spat.

"You don't have a damn jewelers saw, you lackwit," Kate growled back.

"Use the dikes, bitch," Fowler yelled, pissed at Kate's ineptitude.

Neal just hoped Kate didn't cut him as she roughly snipped at the heavy steel braid in the tracking anklet. He also hoped that they wouldn't kill him as soon as he told them where his stash was.


The bottle?

What bottle? Rae watched the Mercedes disappear into the distance. Much as she wanted to save Neal, risking his life this way was not the way to do it. What was in the bottle?

She turned back, hoping EMS had arrived for Peter as she had requested over the radio. Better yet, Peter was awake and talking, and clearly pissed. "Rae, where's Neal?" Peter asked as she got out of the Mustang.

"They have him, Peter," she said quietly. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. We have to go after them," Peter said, trying to get the EMT to let go of his arm.

"We can't," Rae said. "Kate threatened to shoot Neal. And she did have a gun."

"What are we going to do?" Peter asked, panicked.

"He left me a message in a bottle. I have to go figure it out," Rae said. "You go get looked at, and I'll get right back to you."

Somehow, Peter got the idea that Rae wasn't coming back to get him. He grabbed her hand. "Be careful, Rae," he admonished. She nodded, then got in the Mustang and drove away.


She parked the Mustang in the drive, not bothering with the garage, and went into the house. A bottle... What kind of bottle? It'd have to be a wine bottle. It had to be. Maybe Mozzie had brought it over. Neal hadn't been drinking, he'd been obedient in that respect.

Sure enough, there was a green wine bottle on the shelf in her bedroom. She picked it up and held it in the light. There was a piece of paper in there. She grabbed a pair of needle nose pliers out of her tool box and tried to fish it out, shaking the bottle from time to time to encourage the paper to go to the neck of the bottle. At last the pliers found purchase on the paper, and she gently pulled it out.

I love you, Rae. Phoenix, Arizona.

There was a scrambled address below that. I love you too, Neal. She ran the address through her computer's search, going through property deeds in Phoenix.

Jared Stihl.

Rae sighed. Jared had no idea. He couldn't. He'd only bought the property a year ago. And if Neal had hidden his stash there, it was at least five years ago. Rae's ex-boyfriend knew Jared's brother. Hopefully Jared's brother could help her get Jared out of danger.


Twenty minutes later, Rae was headed for the airport, and on the phone with Jared. And Jared was just a little perturbed to be told by an FBI agent that he'd best get out of his house if he valued his life. Especially an FBI agent who knew his brother. Jared finally agreed, and hung up, hopefully headed out the door already. Rae pondered her predicament as she boarded the small charter plane for Phoenix.

She couldn't do this alone. She didn't know how many people were involved and she didn't know if she could save Neal by herself. But to bring in other FBI agents would be to send Neal back to prison, because that would be admitting he had a stash and the stash was his, and he would be prosecuted accordingly. But if she did nothing, she was sure they'd kill Neal.

On the one hand, his life and his freedom, such as it was, were at risk. On the other, Neal's chance at actually reforming was at risk. How far would Rae go to protect Neal? Would she go so far as to allow him to go back to prison? Sending him to prison would put his life at risk, too, because once the other inmates figured out he had been an FBI informant, there'd be a price on his head. She tried not to think what they'd do to Neal.

Even if she did her best, Neal stood to lose a lot.


Neal had stalled Fowler and Kate as long as he possibly could, and yet an hour did not seem like nearly long enough. He'd finally given in and told them the stash was in Arizona, but they'd need his help to actually locate the items they wanted.

He'd never been one for blood, and the more of his own he saw and tasted, the less he liked it. He really hadn't known Kate. Ever. Else she wouldn't have so enjoyed smacking him around. His ears were ringing and he was pretty sure he had a concussion, and he was pretty sure that tremendous knot on the side of his head from Kate's pistol was not a fashion accessory.

Only now what? He was settled into the corner of the seat he was sitting in, on this small plane, bound for Arizona. He hoped Rae had found the bottle. And he hoped Rae had been able to make sense of the message quickly. There was not much that he would like better than to be met on the tarmac by Rae and a dozen other agents ready to kick some ass.

The idea that Rae would send him back to prison never really crossed Neal's mind. He knew she had plans for him, regardless of their relationship status, and that wasn't in them. Yeah. Rae would come for him. She'd bring in the cavalry. He'd make it out of this.

Shit, he didn't even know who owned the house now. He sure didn't want to be part of a murder, regardless of whether Fowler killed him or not. The thought of Fowler or Kate killing an innocent person who had no idea where the stash was, was downright nauseating. Neal couldn't care less about stealing things, but stealing lives was not at all part of his M.O.

Neal's stomach lurched. Ok. Maybe that nausea wasn't from the idea of being killed or the cause of a murder. Because if he hadn't known any better, he'd swear the plane was spinning around him.

This is not a good sign, Caffrey, pull yourself together.