Federal Building, New York. December 30, 2003 - Tuesday afternoon.
Neal considered Peter's offer as they purchased coffee and walked back across the plaza. In the lobby, waiting for the elevator, he said, "Okay. You promise you'll be fully supportive of me going undercover for this case, and I'll tell you how I spent Christmas."
"You got it," said Peter as the elevator dinged its arrival.
They stepped inside. "I went to a Christmas Eve midnight mass at the church where my parents were married, so I started out Christmas Day as innocently as you could imagine. It was lovely, Peter. The architecture…" He trailed off, aware of Peter's annoyance.
"I didn't ask for a commentary on architecture."
"Right. I went back to my hotel room for the rest of the night, and later went down to the lobby for their Christmas brunch. They had the most incredible…" Neal hid a grin as he could almost hear Peter gritting his teeth. "No commentary on the food either, I got it. I had a D.C. map and a set of addresses, and planned my tour of the city. First I went to the precinct where my father worked. It was slow there, of course, and probably hasn't been renovated since he worked there."
"You went inside the police station?"
"Yeah, I told them I wanted to pay a parking ticket. They said that I'd have to come back the next day. Then I drove to the neighborhood where my parents lived when I was born. There's a park nearby, and I sat on one of the benches to do a few sketches of the neighborhood and the place we lived. By then I was getting cold, and I walked to a Chinese restaurant that had been a favorite back when we lived there. I think the restaurant isn't up to its old standards, because I can't imagine my mother, the gourmet chef, actually liking the food they were serving."
"You said you were going to skip the food reviews," Peter reminded him.
"Food was a big part of my day. Anyway, my mother had attended George Washington University, so I wandered through the campus, did some more sketching. You'll be glad to hear that the campus café was closed. Next stop was the family plot in a local cemetery, where my uncle is buried. I should have taken flowers, but I didn't think I could find a florist open on the holiday. But I did find a great little Vietnamese restaurant for dinner."
"You really are fixated on food."
"Everyone's fixated on food over the holidays," Neal protested. "After dinner I stopped at the movie theater where my parents had their first date. I got a ticket for Love Actually and bought some especially delicious popcorn, and after the movie ended I went back to the hotel." He gave Peter a mischievous choirboy smile. "And that's how I spent Christmas."
"And then?"
"There's no and then. Christmas ended."
"You spent two more days in D.C."
"Yes, I did. But those days weren't Christmas. I promised to tell you how I spent Christmas, and now I've kept my side of the bargain."
They exited at the twenty-first floor and walked back toward the conference room. Neal thought Peter wasn't going to comment on his perfectly innocent Christmas, but the agent said, "I got the impression your mother didn't talk about her past. So I have to wonder how you knew all these places to go. Please tell me you didn't use FBI resources to investigate your parents."
"I didn't have to, but what difference would it make?"
"First, FBI resources are intended for case work, not for our personal lives. Second, the Marshals told me it would be a bad idea to run a search on your father. They said the people he and your mother and Ellen are hiding from may have continued to rise in the ranks of law enforcement or government, and could be in a position to monitor for searches on your dad's name."
"And you're just now telling me this?"
Peter sighed. "I should have guessed you'd be tempted to see what the FBI has on them. But are you saying you didn't look them up?"
"Jones warned me the Bureau monitors everything we do on the computers here, and I didn't want anything to be logged other than case work while I'm proving myself." He had used a colleague's computer one evening to see if the Bureau had anything on Mozzie, but hadn't ventured beyond that, yet.
"Then how did you know your parents' old address, and where they went on their first date?"
"Did you really think I could find where they went on their first date from a Federal database? Because if the answer is yes, I really am going to start taking George Orwell more seriously."
"Will you just answer the question? I want a chance to eat my deviled ham before Hurricane Rice blows in again."
"Henry Winslow told me."
"Of course. All roads lead to Henry Winslow. He's a real person?"
"Absolutely."
"And you swear he's not a criminal?"
Neal pretended to think about it.
"NEAL!" It might have been a shout if Peter weren't gritting his teeth again.
"He has a perfectly legitimate full-time job."
"So do a lot of white collar criminals. Why can't you give me a straight answer about this guy?"
Neal could tell from the gleam in Peter's eyes on prior occasions that despite his complaints, he enjoyed the challenge of trying to trick Neal into revealing information about Henry. But he had a feeling he'd pushed Peter far enough this time. "He's no angel, but he's not guilty of more than a few youthful indiscretions, Peter. You're right, let's get lunch."
###
The plan, as Agent Rice described it that afternoon, seemed simple enough. Wednesday afternoon the team would travel to Connecticut, where they would meet FBI-agent-turned-law-professor Thomas Gardiner. Gardiner would tell them what he could about Benny Sinclair and the Sinclair household before the Gardiners took Neal to the party.
The Bureau would outfit Neal with a few accessories. First was a watch that would let Peter and the team hear everything that Neal heard and said at the party. Neal was surprised they wouldn't issue an ear-piece, too, in order to communicate with him. But they explained the two-way communication devices were rather bulky to go unnoticed for so long, and that new agents in particular found it distracting to listen to FBI chatter while trying to participate in the conversations around them. Rice said if they needed to tell Neal anything, they'd send him a text.
The second accessory was an inhaler.
"Sinclair hasn't made a secret of the fact that he's procured a personal physician for his daughter. That means people will expect to meet Dr. Collins at the party. You should see him there, but we can't count on being able to talk to him. If you need a way to get to Collins, you'll fake an asthma attack. Since Collins is an expert on respiratory issues, everyone will expect him to help you. The inhaler is to help you sell the act. It will be filled with a water-based solution to make it look and sound like you're getting medication," Rice explained.
While everyone else went back to their desks, a member of Agent Rice's team who actually did have asthma walked Neal through what an asthma attack looked and felt like, and how to use an inhaler.
After the agent was satisfied with his rendition of an attack, they were leaving the conference room when a thought occurred to Neal. "No one told me what my alias is for this assignment. Do you know the student's name?"
"Yeah, it should be in here." The agent opened a file, flipping through pages until he found one with a photo of an eighteen-year-old boy. He pointed to a name. "There you go."
"You have got to be kidding me."
"There a problem?"
"Peter!" Neal yelled.
Peter opened the door connecting his office to the conference room. "What's going on?"
Neal pointed to the name in the file. "Is this supposed to be some kind of FBI hazing ritual?"
Peter looked at the name. "I can't even pronounce it."
"Guillaume D'Arcy," Neal said. When Peter and the other agent gave him blank looks, he said, "Translated, it's William Darcy."
There was a glimmer of recognition in Peter's eyes. "He's that character, from that movie. The one El always wants to watch. Pride & Prejudice?"
"Finally," Neal said. "So you understand."
"Uh, no. What's the problem?"
"Peter, I cannot walk into a party and announce that I'm one of the most famous romantic leads in English literature."
"Why not?"
"I won't get any work done. They'll… They'll…" Neal sighed. "When you go home tonight, tell Elizabeth that you're supposed to go undercover as William Darcy. Then we'll talk."
The other agent finally spoke up. "Glasses."
"What?" Neal asked.
"We give you glasses as part of your disguise. Makes you look more like a bookish student, rather than a romantic lead."
Neal shrugged. "Whatever it takes."
###
When Neal got back to the mansion on Riverside Drive, he was about to start climbing the stairs up to his apartment, but noticed voices coming from the music room. At first he thought that Byron was having a good day and would want to share another story about his old exploits, but instead Neal found June and Mozzie sharing a bottle of wine. "Hey, Mozz. I wasn't expecting to see you until after New Year's."
"Things wrapped up earlier than expected, and I wanted to check out your new place. Your landlady is exquisite." He raised his glass to toast her.
"Why thank you, sir," June said, with a smile that hinted at sadness.
"How's Byron?" Neal asked, although he could guess from her expression.
"Not well, I'm afraid. He's sleeping now."
Neal sat down on the sofa beside her. He'd do what he could to distract her a while. "The FBI is finally letting me do field work. I'll be going undercover at an exclusive New Year's party outside New Haven."
"Oh, I'd hoped you could join us for a little celebration here."
"I could," Mozzie volunteered.
"Thank you, Mozzie, I know Byron would love to meet you. But tell us about this party, Neal. What will you be doing?"
"Nothing very impressive. Just posing as a student from Yale, and passing a message to someone. The most challenging part of it is the alias. The student I'm impersonating is named William Darcy."
Mozzie and June both gasped. "Beware the Jane Austen curse!" Mozzie declared.
"The what?" Neal asked.
"Anytime a con uses the alias William Darcy, things go terribly wrong. I could give you examples that would curdle your blood."
"There's no such thing as a curse, Mozzie."
"Call it a string of bad luck if you want, but the examples go back for decades."
"I've heard the stories," June added. "William Darcy is a risky alias. You'd be wise to have a backup plan."
###
When Peter got home, he also had to break the news that he wouldn't be available New Year's Eve. Elizabeth wasn't thrilled, but she had gotten used to this sort of thing. "At least we had a whole, uninterrupted week for Christmas," she said. "Where will you be?"
"We're helping out Missing Persons. They believe a doctor is being held at the home of a suspected white collar criminal in Connecticut. The best chance to get inside and look for him is during a New Year's Eve party at the house."
El paused in folding the laundry. "Do we need to pull out your tux for this one?"
"Good question," Peter said. "I'll check. And there is one other thing."
"What's that?"
"The alias we're using for this party… It's William Darcy."
El pushed the laundry aside. "Reeeeeally," she purred, and she sat up a little straighter. It did wonderful things for her cleavage. "I've always wanted to have my way with Mr. Darcy."
###
Wednesday morning, Peter was waiting at Neal's desk. As soon as Neal arrived, Peter stood up and told him, "D'Arcy's middle name is Charles. That's how you'll introduce yourself."
"Thank you!"
Peter stepped away from the desk, and stared at Neal. "What's with the hat?"
"It's a fedora. Classic Rat Pack. Their look is making a resurgence in Paris, and I'm supposed to be French."
Peter rolled his eyes. "You can keep the skinny tie, but you're not wearing a hat to the party. You look like a cartoon."
A/N: Neal scoffs at the idea of a curse now, but later in the Caffrey Conversation series Silbrith added crossovers with Supernatural. Her story Whispers in the Night has Neal and Peter investigating when people in a New Jersey town fall victim to a dorkiness curse.