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Chapter 4: Shining ( in a way )

Chuck was doing his hacking thing – that's so much more complicated than that, Casey! – when he got distracted by the growling coming from the video, again. His glance wandered for a minute to the image of Bryce, accompanied by two large, vicious-looking dogs. Chuck gulped audibly.

He wasn't sure of what he was feeling about Bryce – Neal Caffrey – being back from amongst the dead, again. Oddly enough, he wasn't feeling betrayed at all. More like, he was feeling guilty as he realized he had no idea what his – former, his mind traitorously whispered, before Chuck could strangle it quiet – friend's face was looking like right now. The angle of the camera was too high, and not in the right direction, to show him Bryce's – Neal Caffrey's – face right now.

There had been a time, Chuck could have guessed the look on Bryce's face, only by looking at his position, at the way his shoulders slouched, at the tilt of his head.

He couldn't anymore. Not that it mattered, really, considering all of Bryce's mannerisms could as well be fake, for all he knew. How much of Bryce had been the real Neal Caffrey?

Chuck couldn't even feel angry at Bryce for having lied, for having pretended to be dead, again. He'd have probably taken it badly, had Bryce popped back up in his life after having recovered – from death, no less – again, because, somehow, he'd have resented Bryce. Chuck had matured a lot in the last years; he knew he had rarely been fair to Bryce, even once the truth had been revealed.

Chuck gritted his teeth, and decided to focus back on what he was doing, because dwelling on whether or not he should resent Neal Caffrey for Bryce's death wasn't going to help the man keep living, whereas finding the source of the video would help.

He looked back at his computer, and swore under his breath. Whoever Daryl had hired to make the site had done a good job, and the distraction had cost Chuck all his progress. He really, really shouldn't get his eyes off his laptop, not if he wanted Caffrey to be alive when they'd talk – not that there'd be a discussion if the con artist was dead, but, you know...

Casey's eyes left Team Castle's personal nerd, and went back to the screen of the FBI agents' computer, where Larkin was currently shown, about to be cornered by two hounds. The NSA agent wasn't worried about the former CIA agent, obviously, especially not as Larkin apparently had a reviving superpower, but still.

While Casey wouldn't care – that much, at least – if Larkin had an accident right now, it probably wasn't Chuck's case. The kid had grown up a lot since 2007, but he still was a kid. And, more than that, it wouldn't be Walker's case. She was probably the one who cared the most about Larkin, right now, despite what Bartowski might say. The nerd had pushed Larkin out of his friend category long ago, and even now that he knew the truth about the CIA agent's motives for, well, everything, Casey still had to see anything that'd say Chuck really cared about Bryce Larkin. The kid hadn't exactly been friendly the first time Larkin had come back, and even now, the NSA agent couldn't see more than Bartowski's usual concern for people in danger in the guy's attitude.

Besides, death by mauling dogs was nasty. No matter how much Casey distrusted Larkin, or whatever his real name was, he didn't wish such a fate for the man.

There was nothing he could do right now, so the NSA agent took a moment to look around.

The tough woman was in a corner of the office, hissing at her cellphone to "get your ass over here immediately, and I don't care if you're allergic to federal buildings, Mozzie!". Casey wondered who she was talking to, but dismissed the interrogation; whoever that was, he was pretty cure they'd be here soon, given the FBI agent's tone.

Walker too was on the phone, calling Beckman to see if the general had gotten anything about "Bryce Larkin" and Neal Caffrey. The NSA agent'd have done it, but the former CIA agent had snatched the phone out of his hand and glared. He was pretty sure she was trying not to think about what her former boyfriend might suffer in the next hours.

Speaking of which, the colonel was really wondering how the CIA had missed Larkin's dual identity. When they missed a nobody, he could understand, but apparently Caffrey had already been on the FBI's radar when the CIA had recruited him. Someone, at some point, should have noticed that his fingerprints were already known by law enforcement.

For all Casey knew, Larkin had made a supervirus to keep the two faces of the coin separate, and had somehow gotten it on the governmental servers without being detected. Perhaps he should ask the nerd if that was possible. Or, wait – perhaps not. Casey didn't need Chuck nerding out at him about Larkin's possible prowesses, thank you very much.

The black man in the FBI team was reviewing files, possibly those about Caffrey's disappearance from the day before. The one on the top of the pile looked freshly printed. The NSA agent guessed he was trying to see if there was anything to find from Larkin's last location. Rarely effective, but you never knew. White Collar agents surely were used to searching for the needle in a haystack.

It left the older FBI agent, who was looking just as worried as Walker. The man didn't seem to know what to do, quite like Casey, and was simply staring at the video feed, a frustrated scowl on his lips.

The colonel had that odd and slightly disturbing urge to say something comforting, which he usually blamed on his concern for efficiency – he had a reputation, you know.

"He'll manage."

Burke looked up from the screen for a moment, and a wry smile formed on his lips.

"He always does."

Well, that, at least, didn't seem to have changed at all. Same old Larkin. Burke and the NSA agent spoke at the same time, after a moment of silence.

"He's dangerously, crazily good at surviving dire situations."

"He's usually insane about it, but he always walks out the winner."

The two looked at each other in muted surprise, too caught on their current problem to really care for surprise, but still surprised nonetheless.

"You don't know half of it."

And that, they realized as soon as they said it together, was probably truer than they thought.

oOo

Neal was torn between not looking at the two dogs, since eye contact was the best way to get an unknown canine to jump for your throat, especially when it was hostile, and keeping his eyes on the dogs since, anyway, they were more than likely to go after his throat any moment.

He had just slammed his way through a derelict wall, his left shoulder was hurting, his right hand too for the matter, he was almost certain he had started bleeding from the head again, his suit was ruined – he hated ruining Byron's suits – and he only had a broken chair leg – already in a very bad state – to defend himself with.

He glared – inwardly, outside it looked more like a cool-headed glance, just in case – at the dogs, and was very tempted to turn to look at the camera he had seen embedded in the wall behind him and to mouth "Really?" at Riggs, who was certainly watching.

He'd have done it, surely, but Neal knew the dogs would probably chose that moment to start and maul him to death. And while Neal was quick to complain about his situation – to himself, of course, he wasn't going to let Riggs or anyone else for the matter, see how frustrated he was by all this circus – he was also determined to get out of here alive.

So the conman took a step back, letting Bryce's personality out to play – no, Bryce didn't play. Bryce wasn't particularly playful. He hadn't been for a long time. Once, perhaps, when he was just another student at Stanford... But not anymore. And, deep down, Neal knew he was a bit like that too. Not as dark, perhaps, but just as damaged. Because he always pretended he wasn't didn't really mean anything. Neal certainly enjoyed fooling around, but he knew when to be grave. He usually avoided the situations that'd ask him to be, though. He'd rather ignore the damage.

Anyway, Bryce was the one he needed, now. The one who, unlike Neal, didn't fool around. The one who wouldn't hesitate.

Perhaps, Neal mused one last time before completely immersing himself in his persona, perhaps that was why he could still pretend everything was simple and joyous. Bryce was taking on all the darkness, the betrayals, the lack of trust – and Neal could pretend.

The dogs suddenly growled louder, their legs tense and the front of their body low on the ground, ready to pounce – they were mirroring him, he realized. Neal had been threatening enough – even though most people couldn't see it, because of the mask, Neal still was Bryce Larkin... or Bryce still was Neal Caffrey, more accurately. But as Bryce... he wasn't wearing the mask anymore – not on that point, at least; for the rest, Bryce was as much of a mask as Nick Halden and all the others. Only Neal was truly real.

Not that the hounds would care. Neal or Bryce, to them, it was the same thing. The same scent.

They could wait long, like that, for one of them to make the first move. Neal decided to offer it, since he wasn't sure he'd be able to fight the two attack dogs if they stayed like that, staring, for too long. He wasn't exactly in the best of health... And even now, he had no guarantee he'd walk out of this one alive. Certainly not unscathed.

He felt a drop of blood rolling down his forehead, as if in a hurry, after having sluggishly made its way through the re-opening wound. The moment it fell off his chin, Neal moved.

The dogs pounced only half a second later, in perfect sync. Neal jumped above the first one, but couldn't avoid the second one, which went for his thigh. The pain of the fangs ripping through the fabric, both of his pants and of his flesh, had him close his eyes for a moment.

He wasn't defenseless for all that. Even before his eyes opened again, his right hand, with the broken chair leg in it, fell violently on his attacker. The dog yelped as the sharp wood entered its flesh. Neal heard the sound of blood bubbling out. He couldn't see with his eyes closed, for sure, but he had known where exactly the dog had been – biting his leg.

Neal's eyes snapped open just as the dog's jaws slacked open. The pain diminished, but he was still painfully aware of the blood, which was now flowing freely out of the wounds, and of the torn flesh. His leg almost gave out under him.

He wasn't done yet.

The first dog had turned around, and was coming back for him. Neal didn't have a weapon anymore, the broken chair leg still in the other dog, which had dragged itself away from the fight.

The conman saw a blur of black fur and two rows of yellowish fangs. Instinctively, he held up his arms to defend himself. At some point, even training couldn't account for everything. And it had been a long time since his last real fight. Dogs weren't his usual opponents, on top of that.

Surprisingly, his arms weren't torn to shreds.

In fact, Neal suddenly realized, the hound had bitten something off, alright. But it wasn't him. The dog's powerful jaws were now clasped on his handcuffs' chain – and, admittedly, one or two fangs were also grazing his hands, but it wasn't the point. The dog was biting off the links Neal had been working on for a good time previously. The chain broke. The dog fell down. Neal kicked.

The hound was propulsed against the nearest wall, which broke down at the impact.

Neal took a moment, looked at the broken cuffs, and despite everything, smiled at the camera.

oOo

Peter took a deep breath as he watched his CI – but was it only Neal, at this point? – smirking at the video camera. Sure, the man didn't look good, but at least he was alive. The entrance of the attack dogs had made the FBI agent worry yet a bit more – meaning, a lot – but this particular threat, at least, was dealt with.

Although, Riggs was still out there, and Peter feared that Neal wouldn't be able to do much in this state. They really needed to find something to lead them to his friend, but what? Chuck Carmichael was working on the site, and Jones was trying to find a clue as to how Daryl Riggs had found Neal to begin with, and, of course, every police officer and FBI agent around knew to be on the lookout, but there wasn't much else they could do. And for now, their search wasn't proving very successful.

Sarah Carmichael stopped next to Peter to look at the live feed. She looked particularly upset, as she watched Neal tear off his left sleeve to bandage the bite wound on his leg – Peter winced for him, as he knew what the clothes meant to Neal, and as the CI had other things to worry about right now.

"He's going to make it."

Peter didn't find himself very convincing, as it was, but the blond woman still gave him a weary smile.

"He always does, doesn't he? Even when you think he didn't..."

Apparently, they all had similar experiences, on some points at least, with Neal. Even if to the other team, he was Bryce Larkin.

Peter suddenly felt very glad that Neal hadn't yet pulled a disappearing / dying act on him. He had gone, run away, taken the leave more than once, but he had never made Peter believe he was dead.. At least, not since they had started working together. The years before that didn't count.

Diana burst back in the room – when had she left? Perhaps Peter needed to pay a bit more attention to his surroundings, and not only to the video... – with Mozzie in tow. The small man looked even more skittish than usual, and was eyeing the strangers in the room distrustfully. For once Peter didn't think it unwarranted. Mozzie's best friend had disappeared, again, and the usual team wasn't alone. Since the older conman probably had no idea of what was happening, he could very well be assuming Neal was in more trouble than usual.

Which was the case, but not on a legal point of view.

Diana sat down, and sighed.

"Mozzie says he spoke to Neal right before his abduction. I can try and see if he remembers anything, if you want, Boss?"

Before Peter could answer, the conman scoffed.

"Please, Lady Suit, I'm good enough to tell you there wasn't anything out of place that I could have noticed, and that I didn't. A bunch of passersby; a man with cowboy boots, a woman with a craddle and a baby, two city workers, and a man in a suit talking on the phone. Nothing else, unless we're considering aliens."

Peter stared at Mozzie for a moment, not sure what to say.

The conman frowned at the FBI agent, blinked, and turned to look at Diana.

"Are we considering aliens?"

She rolled her eyes.

"No, Mozzie, we're not. Besides, I don't think aliens would use a site to show us live feeds of Neal's abduction. And we've got a name, Daryl Riggs, a rogue NSA agent, which makes your alien theory even more unlikely."

"On the contrary, Lady Suit! If there are aliens, you can be sure they've infiltrated the NSA, the CIA, the FBI, and every other alphabet agencies you can think of! This Riggs might have been about to be found out, which is why he went rogue!"

There was a long silence in the room, and even Carmichael looked up from his computer for a moment, dumbfounded. Then Mozzie calmed down – or, as much as he could while in a federal building. Peter could tell the conman wasn't believing Neal had been abducted by aliens, but also wasn't about to drop his idea that there were visitors from outer space hiding amongst humans. Which wasn't a problem, because it really wasn't the point here. As long as Mozzie understood that Neal had been taken by a human being...

"Sorry. Who are your friends?"

Peter, Diana and Jones shared a look, sure they'd regret it the moment it would be said. The colonel cut the opportunity to handle the conman properly, though.

"NSA. And otherwise. We were after Riggs, when Larkin appeared out of nowhere, again."

Mozzie took a cautious step around Diana's seat, to put the agent between him and the growling individual – this one, he decided, might not be quite human. Then he asked, eyes squinted.

"Who's this Larkin fellow you're talking about? What does he have to do with anything? And don't come anywhere near me, I'm strictly anti-spooks."

The NSA agent gave the conman a short, frightening sneer.

"Caffrey is Larkin. Sorry to burst your bubble, Moleman, but your friend is a spook."

Peter could almost see the wheels turning in Mozzie's head. He really wished he could do a discreet facepalm right now; unforunately, facepalms weren't discreet by nature. The FBI agent wasn't sure what conclusions the conman had just reached, but it had to be surprisingly close to the truth.

"Certainly not. Neal is no spook; he is a con artist. Or, really, a con master, at this point."

And the small man smiled triumphantly, as if he had told the truth of the world with these words.