Percy Jackson Solves a Case

by feelingtheaster9145

Percy and Neal are partners in crime and the crime is annoying Peter. Part 2 of the Unsolvable Case

Neal tried to slip into the briefing room unnoticed, but as soon as he entered, multiple agents turned their heads to look at him. Why wasn't there another door that opened into the back of the room? He adopted a sheepish look.

"Sorry," he said and tried for a smile, "You know how city traffic is."

Agent Peter Burke's expression didn't change.

"You don't drive."

Neal started to sputter an excuse about how he meant pedestrian traffic, but his handler spoke again.

"Save it, I know you stopped for a half-hour to eat donuts."

An agent in the back snickered softly and Neal guessed it was Jones.

"Peter, I didn't know you would be this upset," Neal replied, eyes wide in faux concern, "I'll promise I'll bring you some next time."

Peter closed his eyes briefly.

"Just take a seat," he ordered, exasperated, and Neal complied.

Taking the spot next to Diana, he shot her a smile which she ignored.

"Our case today is a high profile one," Peter began the brief, pointing a remote at the screen, "I'm sure you're all familiar with this man."

A picture of the man in question revealed itself with the push of a button. He was middle-aged, with rust-red hair and a haughty look on his face. A second picture, of a blonde woman with the same expression, appeared next to the first, and Neal realized who they were.

"Mr. W. Dare," Peter explained, "is the owner of the multibillion-dollar land development company, Dare Enterprises. Now, yesterday he and his wife, Mrs. Dare were hosting an art exhibit—"

Neal sat up a little straighter.

"—as a way to auction off some pieces to charity."

"And they couldn't just directly donate money, why?" Jones interrupted, and Neal looked at him, offended.

Peter shrugged.

"Rich people," he muttered, before continuing, "Anyways, sometime during the event, all the paintings from one of the rooms were stolen. That's thirteen very valuable pieces of artwork missing. The Dares have asked for our help finding them, and we better deliver because they are extremely upset."

"I mean, I'd be too," Neal commented, reading over the list of stolen pieces, "The thieves got away with a Müller, a Côté, and a Bianchi. Those three are worth a little less than a million each, but even the others could go for that much at an auction."

"Do we have any suspects?" Diana asked, getting down to business.

"We have a suspect," Peter revealed, pulling up another picture on the screen, "This is Rachel Elizabeth Dare."

"Their daughter?" Jones asked incredulously.

The girl in the picture was young, roughly in her mid-twenties, with a wild mane of curly red hair, the same color as her father but much more unruly in texture. A dark cluster of freckles dusted her cheeks and nose. She looked almost bored, and she displayed none of the arrogance that was visible on her parents' faces.

Neal also gaped a little, taking a look around the room. None of the other agents saw it coming either.

"It's certainly surprising," Peter agreed with his colleagues, "But we pulled security footage from the venue. Take a look."

Peter clicked another button on the remote, and a video started to play. Everyone in the room watched it with rapt attention.

The video depicted multiple screens, one for each room of the gallery, and in each, people wandered around, looking at art and chatting. The feed wasn't the highest of quality, but it was enough to distinguish the attendees.

"Rachel Dare is the one in the green dress," Peter pointed out, gesturing to a woman on the rightmost screen, but Neal thought it was unnecessary. Her bright hair was practically a beacon.

Neal watched as everyone on screen suddenly made their way into the main room, where a man with a gavel stood behind a podium and Mr. and Mrs. Dare stood to the side of him. The auction was starting.

"Watch this," Peter instructed, then began narrating Rachel's actions, "She walks directly out of range of the camera and disappears."

On-screen, as hands fly in the air to place bids, Rachel slips out of the entrance in the back of the room. She walks into the previous room, turns, and makes a beeline towards the next. Then, after glancing over both her shoulders, she steps to the right side and the camera loses her.

"What's over there?" Diana asked.

"Employee entrance," Peter explained, fast-forwarding through the video, "She's gone for 3 minutes and 42 seconds. As soon as she comes out, the camera goes dark."

True to his word, a brief glimpse of Rachel in her green dress is seen in the corner of the screen before it turns black.

"By the time security realized and got down there, the paintings were gone. As of right now, Rachel is our prime suspect, but she's gone completely off the grid. We're tracking her credit cards and cellphone, but no hits yet. I want everyone working double time on this one. The Dares are powerful people, and the higher-ups will have our heads if this goes cold," Peter concluded.

The agents in the room nodded their heads in accordance.

"Jones, NYPD already surveyed the scene. I don't think they've found anything concrete but talk to them anyways. Let them know we're taking the case completely off their hands," Peter said, starting to delegate tasks, "Diana, you're with me. I've already called in the Dares to talk to them about their daughter. They should be here soon, and I want you with me to interview them. Kinsey, I want a list of known associates and—"

Peter's voice faltered as he caught sight of Neal raising his hand, and he sighed.

"Don't…do that," he gestured to Neal's arm, "What is it?"

"Are we sure that it was Rachel?" Neal asked, looking down at the case documents they had passed out earlier, "It wasn't just the canvases, the entire frames are gone. There's no way she'd be able to get thirteen metal frames out before security showed up. And no alarms sounded? At all?"

"So maybe she had accomplices, or already knew how to disable the alarms," Peter shrugged, "Doesn't change the fact that she's the only lead we have. We find her, we find the paintings."

"But Peter—"

"This is ridiculous!" a loud voice argued from the main lobby of the White Collar office.

Everyone turned to the source to see Mr. Dare shouting at one of the agents, his face rapidly turning pink. Mrs. Dare, beside him, placed a hand on his bicep and appeared to try to calm him down. They were both dressed immaculately in crisp fabric that screamed expensive, even from a distance.

"I don't have time for this, Neal," Peter quickly chided him, exiting the briefing room, and motioning for Diana to follow.

Affronted, Neal followed as well.

Peter and Diana descended the steps to intervene before Mr. Dare got any more heated.

"Mr. and Mrs. Dare, thank you for coming so quickly," Peter greeted them, "I'm Assistant Special Agent in Charge Peter Burke and this is Special Agent Diana Berrigan. I'm personally overseeing your case so don't worry, we will find your daughter."

Mr. Dare glanced at him up and down, not even acknowledging Diana.

"And my paintings?" he sniffed. He was shorter than Peter but still managed to give off the air of looking down at him. "Their owners have already paid for them."

Peter and Diana were startled at his attitude but kept their reactions hidden. Recovering first, Neal stepped out from behind his superiors.

"Rest assured, the paintings are our top priority," Neal said confidently, straightening his posture to figuratively take up a little more space.

Mr. Dare looked at him a little more curiously than he did Peter, and Neal took that as a win.

"Another agent, I presume?"

"I'm a consultant," Neal corrected, holding out a hand to shake and sending the older man a winning smile, "Neal Caffrey. I specialize in art forgery and art theft."

Mr. Dare paused for a moment, then decided to accept the handshake, and Neal felt Peter bristle behind him.

"Shall we begin?" Mr. Dare suggested, "I'm assuming you have questions about Rachel."

Peter nudged Neal out of the way, taking the lead again.

"Yes. Please, come this way," the handler said, showing the Dares the way to the briefing room upstairs, where the agents had already cleared out to begin the investigation.

Once they were all settled in chairs around the table—except for Neal, who was forced to stand behind the agents—Peter glanced at Diana to let her know to begin. She cleared her throat, and Mr. Dare was forced to look her way.

"Let's talk about your daughter," Diana said, leaving no room for argument, "Was there anything suspicious about her behavior yesterday during the exhibit? Nervousness, fidgeting, anything of the sort?"

"No, she didn't even speak to us," Mr. Dare said, irritably, "She acted the way she usually does."

"And that is?" Diana prompted.

"Uninterested, unsophisticated, unsociable," Mr. Dare listed off, "She's always been rebellious, ever since she was young."

Peter and Diana glanced at each other, thinking the same incredulous thought. Did the Dares think their daughter stole millions of dollars worth of artwork for their attention?

Mrs. Dare huffed, and spoke for the first time, "Her dress had paint on it, for Christ's sake. I had my assistant search for weeks for that shade of green, just for her to go and ruin it."

Neal felt Peter's sentiment from earlier. Rich people. Then he paused.

"You mentioned paint, is Rachel an artist?" Neal asked, stepping forward off the wall he was previously leaning on.

Diana turned to tell him off, but Peter motioned for her to let him speak.

"I believe she draws sometimes," Mr. Dare replied hesitantly, looking to his wife for confirmation, but the woman looked just as confused.

"She any good?" Peter cut in, interested to see how this could relate to the case. As unorthodox as his methods were, Neal always brought a new perspective.

"I don't know," Mr. Dare commented, irritated again.

"So, you've never seen your daughter's work?" Peter pressed.

"What does that matter?" Mr. Dare questioned, his frustration rising, "Yes, maybe she occasionally plays around with paints, but she's never once expressed interest in the exhibit."

Neal felt a little angry at the fact that this man didn't have a clue about his daughter. It reminded him of his own father, and his blood boiled.

"How often do you spend time with her?" Neal asked, changing topics. Mr. Dare's gaze turned over to him, and Neal realized he lost whatever favor he had gained during their introduction.

After a pause where he didn't answer, Mrs. Dare cut in.

"She spends all her time at that summer camp of hers. She's been going since she was a teenager, so we barely see her," the woman said. She turned her head to the side and her heavy earrings swayed with the movement.

"Summer camp?" Diana asked, raising her eyebrows, "What's the name?"

Now it was Mrs. Dare's turn to be silent. The agents and Neal looked at each other, and then at the Dares, who firmly refused to make eye contact.

"You don't know? Does Rachel pay for it?" Diana continued to interrogate.

"She…never mentioned a fee," Mrs. Dare replied, seeming puzzled. Mr. Dare didn't have an answer either, but he didn't look fazed.

Peter wanted to thump his head against the wall. Summer camps weren't just free, and Rachel certainly did not qualify for any sort of financial aid. Realizing that the Dares weren't refusing to give information, but that they simply didn't have any information to give, he changed tactics.

"Alright, can you give me any people that Rachel might turn to for help? Other family members, friends, old classmates?" he asked them.

The Dares looked at each other, and Mrs. Dare bit her lip.

"As my wife said, she's always at her camp, so my guess would be whatever friends she has there," Mr. Dare finally said.

By this point, even Diana was losing her cool.

"Do have any names?" she asked, but she already expected the answer to be a 'no'.

However, the Dares hesitated, and Peter recognized that now they were withholding information.

"You do. Who is it?" Peter asked, but they still refused to reply, "If you want us to help find Rachel, and your paintings, you have to be honest with us."

Agent Kinsey knocked on the door, breaking Peter's intense stare and the man gritted his teeth but motioned for him to come in.

"I have that list of associates," the new agent ventured, and Peter's mood lifted.

He held his hand out for the file, and Kinsey gave it to him before leaving immediately, sensing the tension. Peter opened the manilla folder and started to skim its contents.

"No close family members, no notable classmates at school," he read out, before flipping the top page up, and reading the next one.

Peter looked up, eyebrows raised.

"Persephone Jackson," he announced, looking at the Dares for their reactions.

Behind him, he heard Neal's exclamation of surprise and he held the file out to the side for him to take.

Mr. Dare looked affronted and annoyed, while Mrs. Dare looked nervous and a little guilty.

"But you already knew that," Peter confirmed.

Neal passed the file to Diana, so she could see who they were talking about, and after reading it, she understood their surprise. Neal still stuck to his earlier impression that Percy did not seem like a criminal, but after this, it would probably be harder to convince Peter.

"Your daughter is friends with an ex-fugitive," Diana commented, raising her eyebrows.

"That's exactly why we didn't say anything," Mr. Dare huffed, "I don't care to associate us with her. I haven't even seen or heard from Jackson in years."

Mrs. Dare stayed silent, looking even guiltier, and they all noticed her expression.

"Mrs. Dare, do you have something to share?" Peter asked.

Mrs. Dare opened her mouth, but suddenly someone else burst through the door.

"Where's Rachel?" Persephone Jackson demanded, looking furious. She was the only one in the room dressed in casual clothing, but somehow her angry presence held more weight than any of them.

All occupants of the room froze. Agent Kinsey appeared behind her, stuttering out apologies for allowing the girl to enter, but Peter regained his bearings and waved him off.

"Percy?" Neal asked, stunned.

"Where's Rachel?" Percy repeated, too mentally occupied to acknowledge him.

"We were hoping you'd be able to tell us," Peter said, and Percy turned to look at him, recognizing his face.

"Agent…Burke?"

"You know her?" Mr. Dare asked, confused.

"We've met," Percy replied, vaguely, "And I don't know, that's why I'm asking you!"

Mrs. Dare sunk into her seat, releasing her perfect posture.

"Wait, if you don't know what happened, how did you know to come here?" Neal interrupted, and Percy finally turned to look at him.

"Neal?" she asked, but then quickly got back on track, "What do you mean? What happened? I was supposed to meet Rachel yesterday, but I couldn't find her. Mrs. Dare told me she was missing and that they were at the FBI."

"You contacted her?" Mr. Dare turned to his wife, outraged.

"She kept spamming me with texts! I thought if I told her, she would leave us alone!" Mrs. Dare tried to defend herself, unsuccessfully.

"Leave you alone?" Percy stepped closer to the Dares, her hands in fists, "Rachel is missing. Aren't you worried?"

"Stay out of our business," Mr. Dare almost roared, making everyone in the room flinch.

Neal noticed that Percy didn't even bat an eyelash. In fact, it seemed as if she was getting ready for a physical fight, her hand creeping towards the pocket in her jeans.

"Enough!" Peter yelled, his assertive voice catching everyone's attention.

Outside, agents craned to look at what was the cause of all the yelling in their usually calm office. Neal leaned over and placed a hand on Percy's shoulder, and, although she shrugged it off, it reminded her to take a breath.

"Percy," Peter began, "Rachel is the prime suspect in a major theft that occurred yesterday at the Dares' exhibit. She and thirteen pieces of artwork are missing."

Percy gaped for a moment, before getting ready to defend her friend, but Peter started speaking again.

"You mentioned that you were supposed to meet her yesterday. When and where?"

Percy glanced at the Dares in confusion and, out of the corner of her eye, noticed Neal slipping out of the room.

"I know about that exhibit, I was supposed to be Rachel's plus one," she started slowly.

Mr. Dare spoke again, still full of anger, "I would have never allowed—"

"Mr. Dare, if you cannot calm down, we'll have to remove you from the room," Diana commanded, glaring at the businessman who finally shut up. Percy shot the other woman a grateful look.

"Like I was saying," Percy paused when Neal returned with another chair for her. After thanking him and taking a seat, she began again, "Rachel invited me. I told her I'd come at seven, but there was a last-minute emergency. I ended up getting there after eight, and when I did, everyone was gone, and the place was closed."

Peter looked thoughtful.

"The theft was discovered at seven-fifteen and the cops sent everyone home around eight," Neal explained to Percy.

"I'm confused. So, a bunch of paintings were stolen, and you guys think Rachel did it?" Percy asked, incredulous. She furrowed her brows and shifted forward in her seat, placing her forearms on the table.

Mr. Dare spoke again, but more calmly so no one told him off, "It was all on the security footage."

"Are you serious? Even you think she's a criminal?" Percy asked, her anger rising again.

"It's hard to truly know someone," Mrs. Dare tried to reason.

"She's your daughter!" Percy shouted, starting to inch out of her chair.

Even though Diana had asked Mr. Dare to lower his voice, she didn't have the heart to tell Percy the same thing. The younger girl did have a point.

"Agent Burke," Percy said, turning to Peter pleadingly, "I've known Rachel since we were fourteen and she's not a criminal. I don't think she'd do anything to destroy or steal those paintings either. She really values art."

"Then why didn't she participate more in planning the exhibit?" Mrs. Dare asked, eying Percy from the side of her face.

"Because she doesn't like spending time with you," Percy shot back harshly, and Mrs. Dare looked offended.

Neal bit back an amused smile at the interaction.

"I appreciate the information, Percy," Peter finally said, "But right now, all the evidence points to Rachel, and we'll have to continue our investigation accordingly. However, we'll keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary."

Peter's statement was meant to be placating, but Percy gritted her teeth when they didn't fully believe her.

"Why would she invite me if she planned to steal the paintings?" she demanded, but the Dares weren't convinced, and Peter's hands were tied. "I can't believe none of you are even a little bit concerned," she muttered angrily and stormed out of the room.

Peter sighed but turned back to the Dares.

"So when will you find my artwork?" Mr. Dare asked again, having seemingly composed himself following Percy's exit.

Peter pursed his lips in frustration.

Neal was unnerved by the cold greed in Mr. Dare's eyes and unsatisfied by the lack of compelling motive. He knew the desire for wealth and power all too well, but at the expense of his own daughter? Mr. Dare's behavior pinched something in his stomach and Neal slipped out of the briefing room unnoticed.

"All of our agents are hard at work, Mr. Dare. Please give us a direct way to contact you and we'll keep you posted," Diana reported professionally. She tore a piece of paper from a pad and slid it over to him with a pen.

Mr. Dare harumphed, reaching into his suit pocket to pull out a business card. When he held it out to Peter instead, Diana raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

"This is my personal number. The secretary will forward you to me," the man explained, standing in from his chair and leaving without a goodbye, his wife in tow.

"So much for direct," Peter commented to Diana, who crumpled the untouched sheet of paper in her fist.

---

Neal ran down the hall and quickly pressed the button to call the elevator, pacing back and forth while he waited for the lift. He was finally able to catch one, and after taking it down to the first floor, he weaved through the people in the building lobby, making his way out the main glass doors.

He turned around, making a few half circles with his body before finally finding who he was looking for.

"Percy!" he called out, a little breathless.

She hadn't gotten too far from the building when he caught up with her, and the girl turned around at the sound of her name, hesitantly walking back towards him.

"I believe you," Neal said, gesturing with his hands towards the building, "What you said about Rachel in there, I don't think she did it either."

Her eyes lit up briefly, but then her body sagged.

"I appreciate that, but Agent Burke doesn't, so what does it matter," she sighed, the dejection in her voice clear.

But Neal sent her a mischievous grin.

"That's what I'm here for. I do the things the FBI can't," he explained, "I'll help you out."

The gears turned in Percy's head as she searched his face and Neal watched her think it out.

"What's in it for you?" she finally asked.

"Hey, I'm all for doing the right thing," Neal exclaimed, putting a hand over his chest, and for the first time that day, Percy finally cracked a smile.

"I'm sure you are," she teased back, "Okay, let's do it."

Then, her expression turned stony again, and Neal followed her gaze, turning around to see the Dares exiting the building as well. As they walked towards the curb, backs extremely straight, Mr. Dare sent them a side glance full of disdain.

Their chauffeur opened the door to their private car and without a word, they entered gracefully. In a matter of seconds, the black vehicle was already speeding off.

"Gods, I hate them," Percy muttered. She didn't sound angry anymore, but Neal could tell she fully meant it. She turned her attention back to him. "Where do we start?"

Neal turned his wrist to look at the time on his watch.

"How about I meet you at the exhibit hall in an hour?" he offered, and Percy nodded, "And you should wear what you were originally going to wear yesterday."

Percy looked a little confused but accepted the request without explanation.

"Thank you, for helping me," she said, her eyes sincere.

Neal faltered at the intensity of her gratitude but pretended to shake it off.

"Of course," he replied, "Peter's probably looking for me right now, but I'll see you soon."

He took a few steps backward before actually turning around to go back into the office. Percy's lips quirked up in a smile and she, too, left the scene.

---

"Wow, you clean up nice," Percy remarked, scanning Neal up and down in an exaggerated manner.

He was wearing the same three-piece suit as earlier, in sleek grey, but unlike before, a matching fedora rested on his styled hair.

"Very funny," Neal replied, his hand coming up to briefly touch his hat, the only difference in his look, "You, on the other hand, look…"

He trailed off, glancing at Percy appreciatively. Her pale grey dress was made of a ribbed knit material that fit snugly around her torso and hips. Simple gold jewelry adorned her neck and ears, and her hair fell in messy waves over her shoulders.

"My friend is missing," Percy reminded him dryly, and Neal blinked. How long had he been staring?

"Of course," he recovered smoothly, "That's what we're here for."

Percy looked behind him, at the entrance of the exhibit hall they had agreed to meet at. The glass doors were shut, but the front desk inside was occupied by an employee. On the doors was a sign that read Temporarily Closed, and squinting, Percy could see the faint yellow lines of police tape around the entrance to a room inside.

She jerked her thumb at the laminated sign.

"I'm guessing this is why you made me get all dolled up?" she asked him.

The sharp movement of her wrist revealed a black tattoo on the inside of her forearm, but she brought her hand back down before Neal could get a good look.

"Ah, you're catching on," Neal mused, "Sure you're not a criminal?"

Percy rolled her eyes. "Come on, let's get this over with. My heels are killing me."

Neal bent his arm and offered it to her.

"Just follow my lead and look annoyed."

Moving her small purse to her left hand and slipping her right into the crook of his elbow, Percy followed him as he positioned them directly outside the glass entrance. Percy brought to mind a memory of her and her friends in college when she had to peel Leo off the dirty wooden floors of a bar after he discovered fireball whiskey for the first time. Her face contorted accordingly.

Neal fervently rapped the door with his knuckles and stared into the building, his face aggressively close to the glass. From inside, a man who heard the commotion picked his head up to look at them. He pointed a finger to where the sign lay against the door, and Neal made a show of looking at it, shaking his head and knocking again.

Neal put his hands up in a show of frustration and turned to Percy.

"Pretend to get mad at me and look away," he instructed.

Percy fake scoffed, crossed her arms, and turned her nose in the air.

"Perfect."

The man inside the gallery came to the entrance, and undid the lock, propping open the door just enough to stick his head out.

"Finally!" Neal cried, "We've been trying to contact you for hours!"

The employee looked baffled.

"I'm sorry," he began, but Neal yanked the door the rest of the way and held it open as Percy entered, arms still folded.

"Listen, I tried calling ahead, but nobody would pick up," Neal told the other man, "There's been a schedule change and we're moving up our exhibit to Monday."

"What event? Monday?"

"Are you new?" Neal asked angrily, stepping closer, causing the other man to step back, "Yes, Monday. We need to take a look around and feel the space, to build the right environments for the pieces. Chop chop, we don't have much time."

The employee looked nervous, and he glanced over at Percy who still refused to make eye contact. She tapped her feet impatiently to sell the bit.

"You're not allowed to be in here right now," he stammered, "Who are you guys?"

"Who are we?" Neal repeated, incredulous, "This is Hera Leventis! The famous sculptor?"

The employee still conveyed confusion, and Neal ramped up the story.

"Are you serious? She came all the way from Greece because you promised her a space to display her pieces and you don't even recognize her? Where is your manager?"

The other man's eyes flashed with a hint of fear.

"No, no, that's not necessary. It's just, this is an active crime scene…" he trailed off, not wanting to upset them anymore.

Percy straight up glared at him.

"Of course it is," she said, layering a heavy Greek accent over her words, "But I've already spoken to the police. It will all be cleared by the start of my exhibit. In the meantime, you will allow me to canvas the space I need, or else I will see to it you are no longer employed."

The outright threat did the trick. The man sagged under the pressure and was clearly out of arguments.

Percy walked over to him, stopping a foot away, and snatched the gallery map straight from the breast pocket on his coat.

"Good choice," she said curtly, and walked past him and into the first room, lifting the yellow tape over her head.

"We'll be quick," Neal promised, walking quickly after her.

"That was impressive," he remarked, after he had caught up with her, "Didn't know you had it in you."

"There's a lot you don't know about me," Percy replied simply, her attention on her surroundings. Suddenly, though, she turned to him with a grimace on her face. "Hera? Really?"

"You said you were into mythology," Neal shrugged, "I thought you'd appreciate the name."

"Not that one," Percy scowled, "Definitely not that one."

Neal stared at her curiously but dropped the subject.

"Alright, so from the footage Peter showed us, this is the room the auction was held," he said instead, spreading his arms out, "Up there, was the podium and the Dares."

The rooms, at the moment, were completely bare. The paintings that remained after the theft had been either shipped to their buyers or returned to the Dares, so the blank white walls made it hard to distinguish the different rooms. Fortunately, Neal had an impressive memory.

"I think this place is built like a grid," Percy commented, peering through the narrow doorways, "Each of these leads to another room."

"If I remember correctly, which I do—" Percy rolled her eyes "—Rachel walked through this one," Neal stated, leading them both to the next room, "Then she turned and went into this one."

Neal led them through the doorway and into the third room.

"You can't see the auction room from here at all," Percy commented, "What'd she do next?"

Neal pivoted to the right, then glanced back up at the camera above the doorway they had just come through. He took a few steps forward, still looking at the camera, then stopped.

"This is about where she disappeared from the frame," Neal claimed, then pointed in front of him, "Probably through there."

There was a faint outline of a door, and a small flat lock painted the same color as the walls embedded into the plaster.

"Employee entrance?" Percy guessed, and Neal hummed to show her she was correct, "Okay. Pick the lock then."

Neal raised his eyebrows, and Percy mocked his expression.

"Don't tell me you don't know how," Percy teased, "Some world-class thief, you are."

"I know how to pick a simple lock," Neal grumbled, "I just didn't think you'd be so eager…"

Neal trailed off, looking behind her.

"What's wrong?" Percy asked, without turning around.

"That employee is back, in the next room over," Neal told her, jerking his head to indicate where, "Think you can distract him?"

Percy grinned.

"Talking out of my ass is a specialty of mine," she replied, straightening her posture and making her way to the employee.

Neal watched and she strode up to him and began to speak, shifting herself so the man had no choice but to face her. Once his back was to Neal, he retrieved his lockpick set from his suit jacket—he never went anywhere without it—and got to work.

---

"To agapó! I love it!" Percy exclaimed, waving her hands around in front of her excitedly, "The rooms are perfect!"

The employee in front of her gave a nervous smile.

"I'm glad you are happy with our facility," he tried.

"There is just one matter," Percy pointed out, making her face look serious again, "There was a robbery here recently, right?"

She continued after the employee hesitantly nodded, "I understand that these things happen, but since I am entrusting my treasures to you, I wanted to be sure you will protect them with your life."

She knew it was laying it on a little thick, but the employee was none the wiser. Percy watched him fiddle with his fingers, before pressing them against the sides of his legs.

"Our security is top-notch ma'am," he attempted to assure her, "The only reason the thief got away with it was that it was an inside job."

He bit his lip like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to say anymore, and Percy pressed on.

"What do you mean?" She stared at him, unrelenting until he finally caved.

"It was the Dares' daughter. She knew the codes to turn off the alarms around the frames," he said, and then more quietly, "Dammit, I should've stopped her."

Percy's gaze sharpened at that statement.

"You saw her?" She carefully made the question sound as casual as possible.

The man looked up, startled that he had said that out loud.

"Yeah," he admitted, "It's hard to miss her, red hair, blue eyes."

"Green," Percy corrected automatically, then mentally winced.

"What?" he blinked.

"What?" she parroted, cocking an eyebrow.

Thankfully, the employee ignored her slip up.

"She was coming out of the employee door, said she was looking for the bathroom," he shook his head in disappointment, then looked puzzled, "Actually, that door was supposed to be locked."

He started turning around, so Percy quickly blurted out, "Could you get me a map of the hall?"

"You already took mine?" he replied, frowning.

"I, uh, used it to spit out my gum," Percy made up on the spot. Distracting was different than straight-up lying to someone's face, and the latter was not something she was the best at, but thankfully the employee gave her a disgruntled look and accepted it.

He left the other way to get her the pamphlet, and once he was out of sight, Percy quickly went back to Neal.

---

Neal easily picked through the lock and quietly slipped through the hidden door. Inside was a hallway with entrances to multiple rooms. He walked down carefully and peeked through the doors he passed. An unoccupied office, a break room, an empty storage space, a security room. Bingo.

The door to the security room was unlocked and, after entering, Neal surveyed the space. There was a high-end office chair at a long desk, and a few monitors set to the feeds of the cameras scattered around the hall. No one was there, most likely because the hall didn't currently house any artwork.

There was nothing inherently suspicious that stuck out to him, so he sat down on the chair to get into the perspective of the guard. To his right, was a panel on the wall with the security system for the frames. Neal shifted back in his seat and leaned forward to get a better look at the cameras, but suddenly, he felt something sharp underneath him.

Getting up and turning around, he dug his fingers into the space between the back cushion and the seat of the chair and pulled out the offending piece of cardstock. It was a narrow, green strip of paper with a few bolded numbers printed onto it.

A dry cleaner tag.

It could be nothing, but it could also be something.

"Neal," a hushed whisper called out from the hall, "Let's go!"

Neal looked up at the monitors again. The employee had just left the front desk and was heading towards them.

He slipped the tag into his pocket and reconvened with Percy outside the security room, where she was frantically waving her arms. Together, they ran down the hall and out the employee door, gently closing it behind them just in time.

The employee caught sight of them right after the door shut.

"Your map, ma'am," he said, holding out the pamphlet, which Percy took.

"Thank you. We'll be leaving now," she informed him crisply, "My errand boy will email you the plans if no problems arise."

Percy thrust the map onto Neal's chest, and he had no choice but to take it from her, giving her an irked look.

With that, she walked back out the way they came, heels clicking against the floor. The employee followed them out, locking the glass doors behind them.

"Errand boy?" Neal asked her once they were safely on the sidewalk, "I'm hurt. I was aiming for 'personal exhibit architect,' but I would have settled for 'assistant.'"

"Suck it up," Percy retorted, "You called me Hera."

"It was supposed to be a compliment, she's the queen of the gods," Neal argued.

Percy scoffed.

"What she is, is a pain in the ass," she said, scrunching her nose up in distaste.

Neal raised his eyebrows at the blatant hostility towards a mythological deity. Distantly, thunder rumbled, and he wondered if it would rain.

"Just forget it. Did you find anything?" she asked.

"Just this."

Neal pulled out the tag for them both to see. Percy examined it for a moment.

"Do all dry cleaners use the same type of tags? Because the place my mom goes to uses these," she offered.

"No, they do not," Neal replied, grinning, "Lead the way."

---

"You couldn't have at least let me change first?" Percy grumbled to him, slipping the backs of her feet in and out of her shoes, "These are digging into my ankles."

Neal looked down to see her heels turning red.

"Would you like to switch shoes?" he offered. He wasn't being serious, and they both knew that, but they also both knew Percy wouldn't have actually gone home to change. It would have taken up a lot of time that they may not have the luxury to waste.

"Nah," she said, lifting her right foot briefly to relieve the pressure, "I like being taller than you."

"Barely," Neal shot back.

Percy grinned, knowing she had pushed his buttons.

"Oh really?" she teased, bringing a hand up to the top of her head and swiping it forward to show just how much taller she was.

Neal walked around her hand, dodging it before it reached him, and as he headed to the entrance of the dry cleaner's, he called out, "Your friend is missing, remember?"

He heard Percy huff, and, in a few strides, she had caught up to him.

They stopped before the door, and Neal took a cursory glance at the place. It looks like a run-of-the-mill New York establishment. The top of the storefront read Pete Dry Cleaners in blocky white lettering and was made of the classic curved frame draped in dark green fabric. The windows revealed the inner workings of the store and, honestly, could use some cleaning. There was nothing inherently wrong with the place, but Neal had imagined the Dares would take their clothes somewhere more upscale.

He grabbed the handle, and opened the door, letting Percy through first before slipping inside.

"Hi," Percy greeted the man behind the counter with a friendly smile and a wave, "Pete, right?"

"That's me," Pete grunted.

Despite the man's deep voice and serious features, Neal thought he looked amicable, for a New Yorker at least.

"We're trying to track down a dress and we were hoping you could help us," Neal explained, toning down his usual demeanor.

Pete raised an eyebrow.

"I take very good care of the clothing that my clients hand over to me," he informed them, "I'd be out of business if I didn't."

Percy raised her hands.

"No, we didn't mean to imply that you lost it or anything. We just wanted some information if you have it," she assured, continuing after Pete nodded, "In the last week, did you get a green silk dress? Sleeveless, floor-length, and size eight, if that helps."

Pete only had to think for a few seconds before he snapped his fingers.

"I did, actually. A woman came and picked it up four days ago, I think," he told them.

"Red hair, green eyes?" Percy asked, just wanting to confirm that this was the same dress.

"Uh, no," Pete revealed, "I don't remember her face but I'm pretty sure she had brownish hair."

Percy turned to Neal, confused, but he waved off the concern.

"Mrs. Dare probably had someone come pick it up," he muttered to her in a low voice.

Percy's lips formed an 'oh' of understanding.

"I couldn't tell you anymore," Pete said, sweeping his hand out to the side to gesture to his store, "As you can see, I get a lot of orders."

Neal and Percy followed the movement with their eyes. The man was right. The racks behind him were stuffed with clothing of all kinds and there were few places Neal could see that might be able to squeeze in another hanger. He even thought that he saw a flash of a cheerleader's uniform, but he blinked, and it was gone.

From beside him, Percy groaned.

"Do you have a bathroom?" she asked, her gaze flitting between the back two corners of the room.

"Yeah…" Pete answered, confused by her sudden change in demeanor, "Straight back and to the left."

Neal watched her walk speedily in the direction Pete had instructed and turned back to the other man when she reached the end of the hall. He didn't see her turn right.

So far it didn't look good, Neal mused. Rachel's dress tag was found in the seat of the security room, placing her at the scene of the crime and they hadn't found anything that would suggest otherwise.

"Thank you for indulging our questions," he said to Pete, but the other man shrugged it off and motioned behind Neal with his chin.

"You can sit over there 'til your girlfriend comes back. I got work to do."

Pete walked back, pulled a section of hangers off the rack, and took the clothing into a hidden part of his store before Neal had the chance to correct him.

Neal took the seat and mindlessly tapped his foot against the ground. He pulled out his phone and checked his messages.

From Peter: Where are you?

Knowing the man could check his tracking data, if he hadn't already, Neal tapped out a quick response.

To Peter: At the dry cleaners.

His phone indicated that Peter was currently typing out a response, but Neal slipped it back into his pocket. A few moments later, it buzzed once, then twice more in quick succession, but he ignored it, enjoying moments like these where he got to annoy his friend.

Then he frowned. Percy had been gone for a while.

He stood up and followed the path she took, turning left.

"Percy?" he called, knocking on the bathroom door, but it swung open at the first tap.

Brows furrowed at the dark and empty stall, he looked back out at the front of the store, but there was no sign of her. There was another door behind him, and he reached out and tested the knob, which easily turned under his grasp. He pushed it back, the hinges creaking, and a gust of wind brushed against his face.

As he stepped out into the back alley behind Pete's store, he finally found her, just as she snapped her purse shut.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked, bewildered.

At the sound of his voice, she looked up. Her hair looked a little wilder than usual, and her face was slightly flushed.

"Huh? Oh, I thought I heard something," she muttered in response.

She reached down to tug some wrinkles out of her dress, and as he walked closer to her, he saw something unusual.

"There's… stuff in your hair," he observed, reaching his hand out to the few strands around her face.

She froze as he made contact, before taking a small step back out of his reach.

"Really? That's weird," she said, letting out an unsure laugh.

Percy ran a hand through her waves and what looked like dull gold sparkles shook off and drifted to the ground. She looked nervous, refusing to make eye contact, and Neal tilted his head a little. Was it because of him?

As he was about to tease her for it, Percy stepped forward again.

"Wait," she said, putting her left hand on his shoulder and looking over it, "Is that…?"

She nudged him around, Neal already turning, and they both stared at what was so important. There, peeking over the edge of Pete's dumpster, was a small corner of green fabric.

"No way," Neal breathed.

Percy's hand left his shoulder as she reached up and carefully tugged the rest of it out of the dumpster. She held it by the shoulders out in front of her body.

"This is it," she whispered, "This is Rachel's dress."

The dress was wrinkled and covered in faint brown smudges, but Neal could see the beauty in what it once was. As he approached it, the small of garbage his nostrils.

"Are you sure?" he asked, holding his nose.

"Yes! Look!" Percy thrust the dress closer to him, and Neal retreated.

"Please don't come near me with that."

"For the love of the gods," Percy snickered at his discomfort, "I know this is the exact dress. Rachel sent me a picture of it so we could match."

"In what world does green silk and gray knit match?" Neal pointed out.

Percy lowered her arms, the dress dragging on the ground, and shot him a brief glare.

"This is my other friend's dress. My dog chewed up my original one last minute," she sighed, her eyes wistful, "It was so pretty, too."

"That's some dog," Neal commented, and then changed the subject before they got sidetracked again, "What's it doing in the dumpster? Did she ditch it before making her getaway?"

"I thought you believed that she was innocent?" she accused.

"I do!" Neal assured, "I'm just thinking of all the possibilities. This is pretty far from the exhibit hall. You said your mom takes her clothes to Pete's?"

Percy relaxed and looked thoughtful.

"Yeah, she lives a few streets over. There's not much around for a few blocks, it's mostly a residential area," she informed.

"And you can't think of any other reason Rachel would be in this area?" Neal pressed, staring at the dress absentmindedly.

"Nope. I already checked with my mom, and she hasn't seen her either."

Percy groaned and shifted the dress to one hand, letting it dangle loosely in her grasp. Neal watched the fabric shift, and something tickled the back of his brain.

"Wait, let me see that," he requested, holding his hand out.

Percy gave it to him wordlessly and waited as he stretched and inspected nearly every inch of fabric. She was beginning to get impatient, but Neal finally spoke.

"There's no paint," he announced.

"Hooray," Percy said sarcastically, "It's not as trashy as you thought."

"No, Mrs. Dare mentioned that Rachel ruined her dress with paint before the exhibit. There's grease and dirt stains, but there's no paint," Neal explained, brows furrowing.

"Maybe she cleaned it?" Percy suggested, not quite understanding the importance.

"It's nearly impossible to get dried acrylic paint out of fabric like this without damaging it. And Pete would've mentioned if it was brought back again."

"Are you saying this isn't Rachel's dress?" Percy pulled out her phone and opened her messages, clicking on a photo, "It is the same one, though."

Neal leaned closer to get a better look, and Percy was right. The stitching, color, and silhouette; they all matched.

Suddenly Percy gasped.

"When I was talking to that guy at the museum, he said he saw Rachel coming out of the employee entrance, apparently right before she robbed the place," Percy started, and Neal nodded for her to continue, "He said her eyes were blue, but they're green. I thought he just got it wrong, but what if…"

"It wasn't actually Rachel," Neal finished slowly, "If someone was pretending to be her, they'd have a second, identical dress."

"And this one must be the duplicate," Percy realized, looking at the fabric in Neal's hands in a new light.

"I'm not sure it's enough evidence to exonerate her, but it should convince Peter, at least," he told her, gripping the dress with as little contact as possible.

"Oh, it better be," Percy grumbled, "I guess it's off to the FBI offices again."

---

"And you're absolutely sure about this?" Peter looked them both in the eyes.

"Hundred percent," Percy replied, looking just as serious, and Neal nodded to back her up.

The older agent sucked in his breath, contemplating before he finally released it.

"Alright, I'll look into this," he decided.

Neal winced, knowing what was coming next. He may not have known her for long, but he quickly realized that Percy was not someone who would simply sit back in this kind of situation.

"We'll look into it," she announced, "I'm helping, and you can't stop me."

Peter rubbed his temples, looking older than usual, and sighed. He already had Neal and now he had to look after someone arguably more impulsive.

"Fine," he relented, "But you follow my rules, got it?"

Percy nodded, accepting his terms.

Jones knocked on the door of the briefing room and then let himself in. In his arms was a bundle of fabric and a pair of sneakers.

"I got those clothes you asked for?" he told them, looking around the room and resting his gaze on Percy.

"Thanks," Neal replied, taking them from him and presenting them to Percy, "Here, hopefully, these make you less grumpy."

Percy laughed but looked genuinely touched. She unstacked the fabric and held up a pair of jeans and a dark blue shirt with the FBI logo in the corner.

"Thank you," she smiled at him, getting up to go change, "Don't start without me."

She nodded to Jones in the door as she left. After she entered the bathroom, Jones turned back to his colleagues.

"Persephone Jackson?" he asked, raising his eyebrows, "Diana mentioned she was here but not that she was working with us."

"Recent development," Peter replied, tired, "Let the others know we're now operating under the assumption that Rachel Dare is being framed and that someone posed as her exiting the employee entrance. Get tech to reanalyze the footage."

Jones looked surprised.

"Damn, this is getting interesting," he commented as he left.

"So, you were getting your clothes cleaned, huh?" Peter asked Neal sarcastically, referencing his previous text message.

"That's not what I said," Neal defended.

Peter paused and then opened his messages, skimming their conversation.

"Still a lie of omission," he pointed out.

Neal shook his head, smirking.

"You're just getting soft."

Before Peter could reply with a comeback, Percy re-entered the room clad in her new FBI-themed outfit.

"Now what?" she asked, crossing her arms.

Peter waited for Neal to speak, but when he looked over, the younger man was staring at the way Percy's stance accentuated the muscles in her arms.

Clearing his throat to get Neal's attention, Peter slid the landline over to himself.

"Now," he said, taking a business card out of his pocket, "We find out who bought the second dress."

Punching the number on the card into the phone, he put the receiver up to his ear and waited. After two rings, a female voice greeted him.

"This is Mr. Dare's office, how may I help you?"

"This is Agent Peter Burke of the FBI. I'd like to speak to Mr. Dare," he informed the girl.

"Hmmm, just a moment, please," she said, and the sound of soft jazz hit his ears.

The expression on his face must've concerned Neal because the younger man waved his hand in a questioning manner.

"I'm on hold," Peter told him, frowning severely, "She put me on hold."

After a few too many minutes of bland clarinet notes, Mr. Dare finally made an appearance.

"Have you found my paintings?" was the very first thing he asked.

Peter gritted his teeth but remained calm.

"Not yet, but we have a lead. In the meantime, I'd like to speak with your wife," Peter requested.

"My wife?" Mr. Dare sounded incredulous. "What will she be able to help you with?"

"I'm afraid I can't discuss details of ongoing investigations with non-agents," Peter said, trying to put notes of apology into his tone but failing.

In front of him, Neal nudged Percy.

"Looks like you're a special case," he whispered, and she snickered.

"However, the faster I speak with Mrs. Dare, the faster I can find your art," Peter continued after glaring at Neal for the slight interruption.

That seemed to do the trick because Mr. Dare proceeded to give him his wife's number. Peter thanked him, hung up, and then dialed the new number, putting it on speaker this time.

"Mrs. Dare, this is Agent Peter Burke of the FBI. I've got a few questions for you," he said as soon as he heard the call pick up.

"Hello, Agent Burke," Mrs. Dare greeted hesitantly.

"Your daughter's dress for the gala, you mentioned that she had stained it. Can you tell me where and what color this stain was?"

"Does this have something to do with the theft?" she asked, confused.

"Perhaps," Peter responded, "Your answers could be very helpful to us so please, indulge me."

"Alright," the woman said, pausing, "She said that she had been painting before she arrived, and there was a bright streak of yellow a few inches above the bottom hem, in the front."

Peter muted the speaker for a moment.

"That wasn't on the one you brought in," he stated, and Neal and Percy shook their heads 'no' in agreement.

Peter unmuted himself.

"And where did you purchase this dress?" he asked.

"A boutique, Victoire Garments, I believe."

"Thank you for your time and help, Mrs. Dare," Peter concluded and hung up the phone before she could question him about the investigation.

He pulled out his personal cellphone and quickly typed the name of the boutique into a search engine. Then, he stood up from his chair and buttoned his suit jacket. Neal and Percy stared at him from their own seats.

"What are you waiting for, an invitation?" he urged them, "Let's go. They close in forty minutes."

---

Peter, Neal, and Percy stood on the sidewalk, looking into the shop window. The fancy cursive writing on the window looped intricately and the mannequin in the front display was wearing Rachel's infamous green dress, accessorized with gold jewelry.

"It seems like we're here," Peter observed, dryly.

"I'm so sick of this stupid dress," Percy groaned, entering through the glass doors first.

As they all filed in, a bell above them chimed and the calming scent of sandalwood filled the air. A woman wearing a chic black pantsuit looked up at them, eyebrows raising at the sight of the odd trio. As she walked toward them, the measuring tape at her hip swung back and forth.

"Welcome to Victoire. I'm Camille. Can I help you with anything today?" she asked them.

"I'm FBI Agent Peter Burke and these are my colleagues," Peter greeted for the nth time, choosing not to detail Neal and Percy's real occupations, "No one's in any trouble, we just have a few questions."

"Umm, sure," Camille agreed, leaning back to catch her coworker's attention, "Jade, can you cover the register? I'll be back with you in a few."

"That green dress," Peter started, pointing at the window display behind him, "That was sold to a Mrs. Dare, is that correct?"

"Yeah, her assistant picked it up about a week ago," Camille answered. She looked curious about the topic of conversation but waited for him to continue his questions.

"Have you sold any more of those dresses after that?"

"Not that I'm aware of," she replied, thoughtfully, "That's one of our more expensive pieces. We only keep one on display and the few we have in stock are in the back."

"If you want to sell the clothing, why do you keep them in the back?" Percy asked, looking confused.

Percy didn't look like the average FBI agent, and Neal could tell Camille picked up on it, but seeing the logo on her shirt, Camille answered her.

"Clients like Mrs. Dare like to be viewed as unique. As such, we try not to sell the same piece to others in close frequency," she explained.

"So, you're saying that other than the one you gave to Mrs. Dare, you haven't sold this dress to anyone since then?" Peter asked, trying to get a clear statement.

"Yes," Camille claimed, "That's correct."

Percy groaned, pinching her nose.

"This is going nowhere," she muttered, Peter and Neal also sagging in disappointment at the lack of information.

"Actually," a small voice piped up from behind the register, then trailed off when all four others in the room turned to listen.

"Yes?" urged Neal, giving the young girl an affirming smile.

"The assistant called two days after, asking for a replacement," she continued.

"What are you talking about, Jade?" Camille asked.

"It was when you asked me to man the phones while that socialite had a meltdown in the fitting room, remember?" Jade explained, and the grimace on Camille's face indicated that she did, in fact, remember. "She said that the first one got ruined and that she needed another as soon as possible. I figured it was okay, so I told her to come pick it up."

At Percy and Neal's frozen faces, Jade became nervous.

"I still charged her for it, though," she tacked on, hastily.

"Mrs. Dare said Rachel ruined hers yesterday, as in on the day of the gala," Neal remembered.

"Did she say what happened to it?" Percy interrogated Jade.

"She said she tore it," Jade replied, looking to Camille for assurance.

Percy looked at Peter, a victorious grin on her face, and Neal couldn't help but smile along with her.

Peter let out a deep breath, pulling out his cell phone.

"Diana?" he greeted, "Rachel Dare is officially not our prime suspect. Get me everything you have on Mrs. Dare's personal assistant."

---

As the newly formed trio filed into the briefing room, Jones looked up from his seat at the table.

"Oh, she's still here?"

Percy glared at him, and he shrunk back instantly. Neal decided he never wanted to be at the other end of that stare.

"She's made more progress on this case than you have," she replied, annoyance clear in her voice.

"Ooooh," Neal commented, smirking, "Burn."

"Settle down," Peter mediated, "Diana, tell us what you got."

Neal subtly peeked at Percy as Diana gathered her notes. Although she had been in high spirits after their discovery at the boutique, her mood had soured on the way back to the office. She was quicker to anger and constantly twirled a pen around in her fingers.

"Meet Celia Houde," Diana began, pointing to a picture on their briefing screen.

The woman looked a few years older than Rachel and Percy, with shoulder-length wispy brown hair and clear blue eyes. Piecing together the descriptions they gathered from everyone they had talked to, Celia Houde fit perfectly. From her photograph, she looked serious but unassuming.

"Aged 29," Diana continued, "Graduated undergrad from Kelley School of Business at IU, worked at a small financial firm for a few years before she quit, and then worked a few odd jobs here and there before signing on with Mrs. Dare."

"I don't see any red flags in her work history," Peter frowned.

"That's because the red flags aren't there, they're here," Diana gestured to the screen as she changed the document, "Her financials are a mess. We're talking multiple failed investments, overdue debt payments, the works."

"What, like working for one of the richest families in the world doesn't pay enough?" Jones scoffed, looking at the numbers.

"Surprisingly, no," Diana countered, "I'm guessing the main benefit of the job is the opportunity she has to make connections and work her way up."

"But Miss Houde has instead decided to take the shortcut," Peter cut in, leaning forward, "How long has she been working there?"

"She started…6 months ago," Diana revealed.

"So, she gets the job, and waits patiently, scheming, until the opening comes to carry out her plan. She gets Rachel out of the way, steals the paintings, and impersonates her so she's not blamed," Peter concludes, "Then, she pays off her debts and never has to work again."

Neal mouthed the word 'scheming' while shaking his head at Diana, who rolled her eyes.

From beside them, Percy flicked her pen around even faster.

Jones turned to her, sighing. "Can you—"

"No. ADHD," she shoots back, and Jones immediately closes his mouth, "Where is she right now? Let's go get her."

Peter, sharing a glance with his agents, places his hand on the table in a calming manner.

"We need more evidence before we can arrest her. If we confront her right now, she'll spook and take Rachel and the paintings underground," he explained.

Percy's jaw tightened. She pushed her chair back creating a loud screeching noise and stormed out of the room, muttering "I need a minute."

Neal pushed his chair back as well, planning to go after her but Peter fixed him with a stare.

"Let her have her minute, she's just worried about Rachel."

Neal slowly pushed his chair under the desk again but turned to look through the glass doors of the office. Percy was pacing along the hallway, a phone to her ear. After a few seconds, the person on the other end must've picked up, because she stopped moving and started speaking. He couldn't hear her, and the rapid-fire movement of her lips was hard to follow, but he picked up on 'Rachel's missing' and 'Can you check—'. The rest of that statement must not have been in English because Neal couldn't make sense of the mouth positions.

"Neal."

He turned around at the sound of his name, an apologetic look on his face.

"Is there any reason Houde would still need Rachel?" Peter asked.

"You don't think she's… dead, do you?" Jones cut in.

Neal fought the urge to look back at Percy, an ugly feeling at the back of his throat, but he tried to focus on Peter's question.

"If I were Houde," Neal began, taking a long look at her profile picture, "I'd fence the paintings first. If I got flagged, I could still pin it on Rachel."

"Nothing's hit the market yet," Diana confirmed, "I've checked all my sources."

"Thank god. Alright, we still have some time," Peter sighed, "Where could Houde be hiding her?"

"The only place under her name is her apartment, and she couldn't hide her there. The building has a singular entrance, doorman, and 24-hour security cameras in the lobby and on each floor," Diana revealed, always a step ahead.

"Must be somewhere unlisted," Neal offered, and Peter hummed.

The glass door creaked, and Percy poked her head in, the rest of her body slowly following. Neal thought she looked much less anxious than before, no longer fidgeting with the pen. Whatever that person she was speaking to said, it must have been reassuring.

"Who was that on the phone?" Neal blurted out before he could stop himself.

Percy didn't seem put off by his curiosity.

"My cousin, Nico," she answered easily.

"You don't have any cousins," Peter replied, and Neal, Jones, and Diana all side-eyed him at the lack of tact.

"I see you're still stalking me, Agent Burke," Percy said lightly, smirking.

Neal huffed out a laugh. Clearly, he was right about her improved mood.

"Anyways," she continued, "I know what you guys are thinking, but Rachel's alive, I know it."

Her voice was filled with conviction and as he looked around, she had the FBI agents nodding in agreement.

"Then let's bring her home," Neal declared, and Percy smiled at him.

---

"It smells like tuna and old Styrofoam in here," Percy complained, wrinkling her nose while she leaned her chair backward on two of its legs.

The plastic creaked and Neal mindlessly shifted his leg forward to steady it, but Percy didn't seem to notice.

"That's what I said!" he replied enthusiastically.

Peter glared at the two of them, but mostly Neal.

"Diss the van again and I'll kick you out," he threatened.

"Yes please," Percy muttered.

"—And send you home," he finished.

"That was a compliment. I love Styrofoam."

"I'm too old for this," Peter said, sighing.

Neal didn't even bother hiding his smile at the exchange. He thought it was amusing when he annoyed his handler, but somehow, he got even more enjoyment out of watching Percy do it.

"There she is, Peter," Jones interrupted, pointing at the screen in front of them.

CCTV footage depicted a young woman briskly walking towards the entrance of the coffee shop. She yanked on the handle with more force than necessary and disappeared inside, her hair narrowly missing getting caught in the door as it closed behind her.

"Okay, Neal, you're up. She looks like she's in a hurry," Peter nudging Neal towards the door, "Go, go, go."

Neal hopped out of the back of the van and turned around. Before an agent slammed the door shut in his face, Percy caught him giving her a two-fingered salute and her lips quirked up involuntarily.

She turned her attention back to the screen where she watched him disappear into the café as well. Jones nudged her arm, and she took the headset he was offering, placing a cushion to one of her ears to follow the rest of the interaction.

They had called up Mrs. Dare again for Celia Houde's current location. It hadn't taken long to find the assistant—Mrs. Dare had Celia pick up coffee for her from the same café every weekday at 5 pm—and the team quickly formulated a plan to intercept her.

Unfortunately, that plan had Percy sitting in the back of an FBI-issued surveillance van with a foul odor that she could almost taste on her tongue. None of the agents around her seemed to be bothered by it, and even if Peter could smell it, she was sure he would vehemently deny it.

Percy focused on breathing as lightly as possible, tapping her foot softly to try not to annoy Jones, and waited for something to happen.

For a moment, all she could hear was Neal's breathing, and then—

The audio crackled briefly.

"Shit," a woman over the headset hissed, "Look what you've done."

"I am so very sorry, Miss," Neal's voice sounded, overly apologetic, "Let me help you out there."

Percy relaxed her shoulders which had tensed during the initial curse. It seemed as though this was the plan, and Neal had it under control.

The sound of shuffling, a few biting remarks from Celia, and Neal's continuous apologies went on for a minute or two before the audio fell silent once more. A few seconds later, there was a sharp knock on the van door. Jones jumped at the unexpected noise and Percy snorted at him.

One of the agents closer to the door let Neal in. As he entered, everyone else leaned back.

Most of the front side of his shirt was drenched in coffee, the fabric soaked almost fully through. In the silence, Percy could hear stray drops of the liquid hitting the floor.

"Hey, uh Neal, you've got a little something…" Peter gestured with his finger up and down his chest.

The man in question grinned easily.

"You should see the other guy."

Percy couldn't help it, she laughed. Then, Neal met her eye, and she swore his smile turned a little more real.

"Did you at least get the—"

"—Tracker in her coat pocket?" Neal interrupted, "Of course Peter, what do you take me for?"

"Good," Peter nodded, "Jones, get Mrs. Dare back in my office. Let's finish this thing."

"Can I go home to change first?" Neal cuts in again, sticking his head forward between the agents.

Peter pinched his nose. He loved coffee, but not like this.

"Yes. Please, go."

Percy turned her gaze to him, widening her eyes to convey what she wanted, and Peter folded instantly.

"Fine, you too."

Percy scrambled out of her chair and followed Neal, muttering "Thank the Gods."

---

The journey back to his apartment was unpleasant. The shirt stuck to his chest uncomfortably, and, as he walked, the breeze heightened the horrible cold and wet feeling. However, hardly anyone gave Neal a second glance despite the enormous brown stain, which he was grateful for.

He side-eyed Percy who had yet to say anything during the walk. They still had two avenues and a few streets to go so Neal racked his brain for something to distract him.

"Tell me about Rachel," he said finally, settling on a safe topic, "How'd you guys meet?"

He could see the exact second Percy's face broke out in a small wistful smile.

"It was at the Hoover Dam," she started, "I was… passing through with some friends."

Neal noticed her voice turn a little sad towards the end of the sentence.

"Anyways, someone blew their nose behind me, and I was already on edge, so I turned around and swung my, uh, baseball bat at them—"

"Baseball bat?" Neal startled, almost pausing in his step. But Percy kept walking, so he did too.

"Thankfully I missed because otherwise Rachel would've been pissed," Percy snickered to herself, ignoring his interruption.

"So, you became friends after you almost assaulted her?" Neal clarified.

"Nope. I saw her again the next year at my high school orientation and I was really hoping she didn't recognize me, but of course she does, 'cause she's Rachel. Then, these two crazy cheerleaders decide they want to kill me, 'cause of course they do—"

"What?" Neal echoed faintly.

"But Rachel's a saint. She sees them before I do and drags me out of cafeteria. Kelli and Tammi follow, obviously, so we try to hide in the band room but, long story short, they find us and blow a hole in the wall. While everyone's freaking out, RED leads me to the exit and before I leave, she writes her number on my arm with a sharpie," Percy finishes brightly, "There's some more stuff that happens after that before we actually become friends friends, you know, but that's the gist."

"There's more?"

Neal's eyebrows are through the roof and if he didn't want to be home as soon as possible to change, he'd stop right in the middle of the street and demand context for that slew of information. In the back of his mind, he subconsciously connected the dots between the nickname RED and Rachel's initials.

"She's ridiculously kind," Percy continued, once again blowing past Neal's disbelief, "She's helped me out so many times, just because she can, even when it's dangerous."

Percy finished her explanation with soft eyes and a small private smile, but then scowled and looked back down.

"Her parents suck," she huffed, "She deserves better."

"She has you," Neal pointed out, finally stopping his stride. He was a little surprised at just how much he meant what he said.

"Oh," Percy blinked, looking at him, seemingly at a loss for a response. Her fingers twitched at her side.

"Why did we stop?" she blurted out, after a moment of awkward silence.

"Welcome to my humble abode," Neal announced, flourishing his hand out to the side.

With his outstretched hand, he grabbed the gate and pulled it forward and open, gesturing for Percy to enter.

"Right. Humble," she said, dryly, but her gaze swept side to side, drinking in the townhouse.

"I rent the top suite from June," Neal explained.

He watched as Percy craned her neck to look up and around the ceiling of June's house. He enjoyed the awe that came with people seeing the place for the first time. He'd certainly never forget the expression on Peter's face either when he arrived expecting a dingy motel like the one that he was originally assigned to live in.

Percy carefully sat down on the large velvet sofa that decorated June's living room and Neal laughed as she sunk into the back of the cushion.

"Yeah, I'm just gonna wait here," she said, throwing her head back onto the soft headrest.

"Make yourself comfortable," Neal responded, voice full of mirth, before turning and making his way up the stairs.

Once he was in his apartment, he peeled off his shirt, made a face, and chucked it into the laundry. He grabbed a fresh shirt from his closet and swiftly buttoned it. Looking down, he was grateful that at least his pants had been saved from the mess. He took a glance in the mirror and swiped a hand through his hair to flick an offending curl back into place. Satisfied that everything was in place, he made his way back downstairs.

"Ready to go?" he asked Percy, who simply grunted in response from her place on the couch. It looked like she hadn't even moved a muscle.

Suddenly, the front door creaked open, and Bugsy pattered into view, a heeled shoe following soon after.

Neal glanced to the side to see that Percy had shot up immediately and was looking at the dog with an odd expression on her face. When June stepped fully through the door, Percy's face relaxed again.

June looked up from putting her key back in her purse and blinked.

"Hello Neal," she greeted pleasantly, before shifting her eyes over to Percy.

"June, this is Percy," Neal introduced, "She's helping us out with a case. Percy, meet June, my wonderful landlady."

June's lips switched upwards as something unknown flashed across her face.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Persephone," she replied softly, then inclined her head, "Hero of Olympus."

Neal's brow furrowed at the last few words spoken in a foreign tongue. They sounded Greek, but also…different. He looked over to Percy for her reaction and found her smiling wide.

"It's nice to meet you too, June," she responded, slightly smirking, "Aphrodite?"

"Yes, a legacy."

"I can tell."

Neal felt like his head was on a swivel as he looked back and forth between the two women. Though he didn't understand the exchange, June, for some reason, looked absolutely delighted, and Percy was grinning.

"What just happened?" he asked, bewildered.

"Nothing, nothing," Percy waved him off, "I was just telling June how beautiful her home is."

That was a lie, and they both knew it, but the longer Neal looked at Percy, the more sure he became that she had no plan to clue him in.

"Oh, I won't keep you," June changed the subject, waving her hand and moving from her place in front of the door, "I'm sure you have places to be."

Percy walked outside, and Neal followed almost robotically, but still confused.

"And Neal?" June got his attention last minute and he turned around at the sound of his name, "Make sure to bring Persephone over some time. I'd love to get to know her."

June's smile turned a smidge mischievous.

Neal nodded slowly.

When he turned back around to leave, he found Percy waving goodbye enthusiastically. He stared at her expectantly, but she simply stared back, her face betraying nothing. Shaking his head and giving up, he began to lead them back to the White Collar offices.

---

"Oh, good, you're here," Peter said, walking up to them, "Let's go, I've got Mrs. Dare in the conference room with Diana. Jones, you too."

The senior agent beckoned them up the stairs. Peter and Jones went first, and Neal waited a beat to fall in line with Percy.

"Look at you," he nudged her shoulder with his, referencing the fact that Percy didn't even have to ask to be included this time, "Moving up the ladder."

Percy snorted at the thought of her becoming an actual agent. For every problem that she'd solve, she knew she'd cause at least three more.

She and Neal walked through the glass doors and took their respective seats on the side of the conference table. Rachel's mom was sitting towards the end and when she looked up, her eyes widened slightly, catching the FBI logo on Percy's t-shirt. She looked up further and made eye contact, and Percy gave her the stink-eye. Mrs. Dare looked back down.

Peter caught this exchange but said nothing. Instead, he asked Mrs. Dare to pull out her phone and the woman complied.

"Okay, I want you to call up your assistant and I want you to tell her this exact message," Peter instructed.

Mrs. Dare nodded nervously and didn't object, so Percy figured they must've clued her in to the Celia situation.

"Tell her that we've found the paintings and we'll hand them over as soon as we've finished combing them for evidence. Tell her that you're celebrating the return soon and you need her to find you a dress," Peter explained, "Make sure you sound genuine, and above all, stay calm. Can you do that?"

Mrs. Dare nodded nervously again, chewing her lip. She swiped through her phone, her fingers shaking ever so slightly.

"Put it on speaker," Peter added, then looked gravely towards all the occupants of the room, "I want complete silence."

Mrs. Dare took and deep breath and pressed the phone icon under her assistant's contact. Everyone listened with bated breath as the phone rung once, twice, and then abruptly stopped.

"Mrs. Dare," Celia's voice greeted pleasantly, "What can I help you with?"

Percy scowled.

"There's been wonderful news," Mrs. Dare started, sounding joyful yet collected. Peter nodded at her to continue, "My paintings have been recovered!"

There was absolute silence over the phone.

"Oh?"

Celia's response took a second to arrive, but it betrayed nothing.

"I'm throwing a small party soon with the auction winners to celebrate, but I have nothing to wear. You'll find me a dress, won't you? Something dark blue should suffice, you know my taste," Mrs. Dare asked her, though it clearly wasn't a question.

"Of course, ma'am," Celia's voice was ever so slightly strained, and Percy knew she was panicking, "I'll have a few options for you by tomorrow afternoon."

"Good," Mrs. Dare replied simply, before hanging up the phone. Once the numbers counting the call time disappeared, she sagged in her seat and looked at Peter, who nodded.

"Now we just wait for—"

"She's on the move," Jones announced, eyes glued to the laptop screen, "Heading down 17th, towards the waterfront."

"Probably an old warehouse," Neal concluded, "She's probably keeping Rachel and the paintings in the same place. Classic mistake, she's gonna lead us right to the treasure."

"Let's go," Peter commanded, standing up. The rest of the agents in the room did the same and followed him out.

One by one, they got into the back of the van once more. Percy reached the door last, and Peter blocked the entrance.

"Hold on, you're staying here," he insisted, "I'm not bringing civilians with me to an arrest."

Percy scoffed. "Like Hades I'm not coming."

In the blink of an eye, she shoved past Peter and climbed in before anyone could tell her off. Neal tilted his head at the unique curse, but decided it wasn't the time to bring it up.

"You're staying in the van," Peter threatened, once he realized that nothing short of physical force would cause her to leave.

"Sure," she agreed easily.

Neal noticed her arm shift down subtly to where she was crossing her fingers, and he had to fully turn around to smother the sound of his laugh.

"Bless you," Percy chirped. She knew he saw.

Peter stared between the two of them for a moment before looking back down at Jones's laptop.

"She's almost there," Peter observed, agitated.

"So are we, boss," Diana called out from near the front of the vehicle.

After what seemed like forever, the van screeched to a halt, and Peter and Diana jumped out, walking briskly towards the figure that was rapidly approaching the entrance of the building.

"Freeze! FBI! Turn around put your hands where I can see them," Diana commanded, her voice carrying far.

The woman froze and slowly faced them, her hands by her sides.

Behind the agents, Percy and Neal crept closer to the exchange.

"Hands up," Peter instructed, and the woman brought her hands above her head.

Up close, Celia Houde looked absolutely nothing like Rachel. They shared so little resemblance that Percy was offended anyone could think that the woman was her friend. Celia's mouth was downturned in a snarl, but she knew not to resist the arrest.

Diana stepped forward and yanked her arms behind her back, cuffing them harshly. Percy found the sound of the metal clicking closed extremely satisfying.

Peter put away the badge that he had been holding up.

"You are being arrested for the theft of thirteen paintings and the kidnapping of Rachel Dare. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in court. You have the right to a lawyer—"

Celia laughed sharply, interrupting Peter reading her rights.

"You think she's in there unattended? Anyone but me goes in there and she's as good as dead," the woman grinned with malice.

Peter stopped short.

"What—"

"Where's Percy?" Neal demanded suddenly, "She was right here."

"She was outside of the van?" Peter asked, angrily.

The warehouse door slammed shut and everyone froze.

"Take her to the van," Peter commanded Diana, before pulling out his handgun and rushing to the door, "Dammit Percy."

Neal immediately followed behind in Peter's shadow.

"Stay behind me," the older man ordered, biting back his initial urge to tell Neal to wait outside.

Without waiting for a response, he swiftly turned the knob, placed both hands around his raised weapon, and nudged the door open with his feet. Entering gun first, he glanced around his surroundings. There was a secluded hallway that led to what was presumably the main room. Neal crept slowly behind him as Peter made his way to the end.

Suddenly, they heard a loud thud and a groan of pain.

Peter broke into a sprint.

Turning the corner with his gun pointing out in front of him, he yelled, "FBI, free—"

The rest of the words caught in his throat as Neal skidded to a stop beside him and they both gaped at the sight in front of them.

Celia hadn't been bluffing. There were two large, intimidating men, or at least there had been two men. One was lying face down on the ground, one of his legs splayed at an uncomfortable angle. His face was twisted to the side, right cheek pressed into the cold ground.

The man brought a hand to his side and feebly attempted to push himself up, revealing a nasty discoloring on his hidden cheek. After a second, his muscles shook and gave out. He slumped back into the ground, and Neal winced as the man's bruise made contact.

Their gazes shifted to the second thug, who glanced at his partner nervously before looking back at Percy.

The woman looked, honestly, a little terrifying. She was simply standing there, left foot shifted slightly back for support, but her arms were crossed over her front. It was deceivingly casual. Her hair was wilder than usual and the grin on her face was unnerving.

The second thug seemed to steel himself as Percy's eyes flashed. He lunged before Peter could say any more, and Neal's stomach dropped.

But Percy was faster, much faster than any of them expected.

She stepped forward too, but out to the side, dodging the man's attack. She pulled on his outstretched arm, yanking him down and slammed her elbow into the base of his skull. The second he careened forward, she plowed her knee into the back of his leg, and he buckled. Before he even got the chance to right himself, Percy swiped a leg under his already unstable foundation so forcefully that he toppled backwards, despite his initial forward inertia. His back collided into the ground first, and his head followed soon after.

At the sound of the impact, Peter jolted into action grabbing his handcuffs. Seeing the agent coming, Percy rolled the thug she had just taken down in the blink of an eye over to his back so Peter could more easily access his wrists. She stepped back lightly, and Peter stared at her, dumfounded, before cuffing the criminal.

Diana skittered into view the same way Neal had, slowing down once she saw the scene before her.

"Damn boss, nice takedown," she commented, already on her way to cuff the first criminal.

"Wasn't me," Peter muttered, dazed.

"Percy," Neal corrected, "It was Percy."

Diana gave them an incredulous look, but when she looked over and saw Percy slightly disheveled, she realized it was the truth.

"Holy shit," Neal exclaimed, his brain starting to function again, "How did you do that?"

Percy grinned mischievously.

"You got your skills, I got mine," she quipped.

Then, she stepped forward again and, in a single fluid movement, swiped the keys off the belt of thug Peter arrested. She shifted her grip to hold the singular key on the clip and walked up to another door a few feet away. She unlocked the room and entered, Neal and Peter following behind, and once she saw what was inside, she ran to the center quickly.

Rachel Dare was sitting on a creaky plastic chair, hands and feet tied with manilla rope and a piece of duct tape over her mouth. Although the bottom half of her face was mostly obscured, Neal noted that she looked almost bored. Her eyes had widened at the sight of them, but otherwise she seemed mostly unbothered. She was still clothed in her green gala dress, and her hair was still immaculately styled. Neal caught sight of the large yellow paint stain immediately.

Without wasting a second, Percy sliced through the ropes with a—wait was that a small dagger? Neal only caught a glimpse before it was gone, but a glance towards Peter confirmed that he had seen it too. Percy then gently peeled the tape off her friend's mouth.

Rachel twisted her lips, stretching out the muscles in her cheeks and experimentally opened her mouth wide.

"Took you long enough, Perce," she commented, sarcastic. She sounded slightly hoarse, but overall, her tone was casual, too casual for someone who had just been kidnapped for almost 24 hours.

"So sorry, Mrs. O'Leary ate my dress," Percy retorted, and Rachel laughed in response, throwing her head back.

She stood up and started to stretch her wrists out, but Percy smothered her in a hug. Neal and Peter watched the two friends embrace. They were a little lost, but at least they had found the victim. And looking around the room, it seemed they had recovered the paintings too, all thirteen of them.

"Who're these guys?" Rachel asked, nodding her head towards them as she pulled back from the hug.

"These are my new friends," Percy introduced them proudly, "They helped me find you."

Neal took that as an invitation to step forward and hold out his hand.

"Neal Caffrey," he greeted. He almost displayed his signature charming smile but held back at the last second and settled for a regular one instead, "Percy's talked about you a lot."

Rachel shook his hand.

A couple feet behind Neal, Peter lips quirked into the half smile he always gave civilians.

"Agent Burke, of the FBI. Glad to see that you're okay, Miss."

"FBI, huh?" Rachel snickered, "All for little ol' me? You shouldn't have, Perce."

Percy rolled her eyes at her friend.

Rachel's smile turned a little sharper when she noticed that Neal had yet to move from Percy's side from when he stepped up to greet her.

"So…" she started, and Percy fought the urge to kick her in the shin when she raised her eyebrows, "Pretty boy here is your friend, huh?"

"I should've left you tied up," Percy shot back, her ears-tinged pink, but there was no real heat in her voice.

Neal wondered what Rachel said, and was about to ask, but Peter cut in.

"O-kay, time to go back to the office. Miss Dare, if you don't mind, I'll need your statement about exactly what went down."

"Sure, Agent Burke," Rachel replied, linking her arm through Percy's elbow, and leading her back outside.

The two men stayed behind a minute and looked at each other.

Did all that just happen? Peter's eyes seemed to ask.

Neal shrugged helplessly.

---

Back at the White-Collar offices, Percy swiveled around in a chair as she listened to Rachel recount the story of her kidnapping to the FBI and Neal. Apparently, after Percy failed to show up at the gala on time, Rachel went into a quiet corner to try to call her, but someone pulled her into the employees only room and bound her wrists. The two guys threatened to hurt her if she didn't comply.

"They asked me for the code to disable the security because they knew my parents had set it," Rachel explained.

"And you gave it to them?" an agent clarified.

Rachel fixed them with a deadpanned stare.

"My parents don't even know where I live. What makes you think I know their favorite 6-digit number?" she asked sarcastically.

Percy snickered behind her palm.

"The assistant, Celia, ended up figuring it out," Rachel went on, "Some important business date, I don't know, I wasn't really paying attention. They knocked me out with chloroform pretty soon after that."

The agents scribbled something on their papers.

"When I woke up, I was in that room with the paintings, and Celia was there, wearing my dress. She said something about gating the art—"

"Fencing," the same agent from before corrected.

"Sure, whatever," Rachel rolled her eyes, "And something about paying her debts and becoming rich. I stopped listening after that. I stayed in that room alone until Percy and you guys came in."

"Alright Mrs. Dare, that should be sufficient," Peter stated, nodding at the other agents to leave.

Once they were gone and the statement recording had been stopped, Jones turned to Percy.

"Did you really take down two grown men by yourself?" he interrogated, his face a cross between disbelieving and impressed.

"Yeah?" Percy asked more than said while shrugging, "They didn't really put up much of a fight."

"They were both twice your size," Neal commented, and Peter nodded.

Again, Percy looked nonchalant.

"She's stronger than she looks," Rachel cut in, then changed the topic," Can I leave? I'm hungry and I miss my cave."

Everyone looked at her, baffled.

Cave? Jones mouthed to Diana, but Peter waved his hand and told her she could go.

Rachel hopped out of the chair, grabbing her phone that they confiscated off the criminals, and left.

"So, how did you guys meet?" Peter asked Percy once Rachel had gone.

"Summer camp," Percy replied automatically.

She glanced at Neal, but he looked innocently back at her. It's not like he was going to spill her secrets to Peter.

"Uh huh," Peter drawled, seeing the exchange, "The mysterious camp with no name, address or visible financials?"

"That's the one," Percy confirmed.

The older man stared at her for a beat. When he didn't say anything right away, Percy stood up.

"Anyways, this has been fun, but I'm out. See you guys around," she said, giving them a lazy salute.

"I'll walk you out," Neal offered, standing up as well.

They made it all the way to the elevators before the silence broke.

"So…" they both started at once, then paused, and Neal's lips quirked upwards.

"Thanks," Percy went first," For believing me about Rachel and then helping out."

She smiled at him, uncharacteristically sweet, one of her hands going up to rub the back of her neck in a sheepish manner.

Neal's mouth went a little dry at her gaze.

"My pleasure," he replied, unable to look away.

They stared at each other for a moment, and then she started to turn around.

"Percy," he blurted out to stop her.

She faced him again, her eyes questioning.

"Can I take you out sometime?" Neal asked softly, forcing his throat to remain clear, "We could go to a museum."

Immediately, Percy's lips twisted into a grimace.

"Absolutely not, no more art," she said forcefully, and disappointment hit Neal like a truck.

"But…" she hesitated, her frown unraveling into something more gentle, "How about coffee?"

Neal felt a grin break out on his face, a little too wide to be practiced.

"I can work with that."

---

Peter stepped up to stand beside Neal once Percy had gotten onto the elevator, startling the younger man who hadn't notice him approach.

"I hate to say it, Neal…"

"Then don't."

"You don't always have the best luck when it comes to women."

"Now what makes you say that?"

"Rebecca."

"Okay, first of all, Peter, low blow. And second, Percy's not a murderer."

"Maybe not, but you have to admit, she's not normal. You saw the way she fought."

"Lots of people take up self-defense classes. She grew up in the city, it's not that surprising she knows how to hold her own."

"You're making excuses for her. It's worse than I thought."

"Fine, maybe Percy has secrets. But how bad could they be?"

"Infamous last words, Neal."

With that parting statement, Peter also left the office, leaving Neal watching after him, hands in his pockets. Neal considered what Peter had said for a second, and then shrugged. He flipped his hat onto his head, slung his suit jacket over his shoulders, and started for home as well, fully planning on ignoring his friend's advice.

---

Notes:

Okay, holy shit, this took forever. I started it back in December and then I just stopped writing the whole semester because school is hard and now it's finally finished! I really hope you enjoyed reading this! I definitely did not write the second half of this while still clocked into work…. And the number of times I accidentally switched over to present tense and had to go back and fix it is ridiculous.

Some other comments:

Percy is absolutely sick of killing Kelli every other month. I can totally see June as an Aphrodite legacy with the way everyone is just drawn to her. Rachel has been hanging out with Percy way too much. And someone (not me, I don't have the skill) needs to write a fanfiction about Leo and Fireball immediately.

Anyways, I don't have any plans for another installment at the moment, but maybe something will come to me, who knows?