A/N: Thanks for the reviews and the story alerts! Everything is queued up and ready to post when my beta is done.
Peter held one of the plastic containers, studying the fragment of pottery inside. He appreciated that it was old, sure, and Dr. Hunt's assertion that they needed to study the past in order to understand the present also made sense.
He just didn't understand why someone would want to go through all the trouble of breaking into multiple galleries to steal something like this.
"Got the history of the world figured out?"
Peter looked over toward the speaker as Neal came out of the bathroom, buttoning his shirt. "Maybe that will be my retirement project," he replied. "I have quite enough present day intrigue on my mind for right now." He poured another cup of coffee and pushed it toward the younger man. "June sent this up while you were in the shower."
Neal smiled and took the cup. "She does take good care of me."
Peter raised his cup in a toast. "And fortunately includes your visitors as well."
Neal flipped a chair around and straddled it. "So what's the plan today?"
"Well, Jones and Diana should have been able to get all of the background checks started yesterday with the lists I sent them. We dig in and see if something doesn't add up."
Neal picked up the plastic case Peter had been looking at. "A lot of trouble over something so small."
"But, as Dr. Hunt would say, something very significant."
Neal's smile softened at mention of the professor's name. "Yeah, she would."
"You really fell hard, huh?"
"Pretty hard, yeah."
"And after you left?"
Neal shrugged and bought an extra moment of thought by sipping his coffee. "Like I said yesterday, I had to leave kind of fast. I drove to Buffalo and caught the first flight, which happened to be to Miami. From there I found the first international flight and wound up in Amsterdam."
"Never looked back?"
"Another drawback to running," Neal said softly. "You can't look back, because there are too many things in front of you that can trip you up."
"So, Amsterdam?"
"I made my way through Belgium, Germany, Spain. Finally wound up in France – in Paris." Neal paused, and there was a slight tremor in his hand when he set his cup down. "That's where I met Kate. We bummed around Europe for a bit and finally made our way back to the States. A few months later, you were on my tail, and you know the rest."
"Hardly." The more he thought he knew about Neal Caffrey, the more he realized he had yet to discover.
"Well, enough." He offered the grin that Peter had come to know meant that the moment of openness had been closed.
Peter drained his cup and stood up. "Well, let's get to it. Ready to go?"
"Shoes and socks," Neal said. He finished his own coffee and went over to the bed. "I have a good feeling about this, Peter. I think Gayle gave us some good information."
"We pretty much exhausted the other leads we had, so any new information is helpful." Peter watched for a moment as Neal maneuvered a sock under his tracking anklet. How easy it was to take everyday things for granted, like just being able to pull on a sock. "Speaking of the good doctor, what did you slip her at the reception last night?"
"What?"
"I saw you slip something into her hand when you were saying goodbye."
"Oh, just my card."
"What, you had FBI consultant cards made up?" He hoped they didn't promise too much…
Neal grinned, pulled on his second shoe and stood up. "No, just a personal card." He picked his wallet up from the counter and extracted a card, handing it to the agent.
Neal Caffrey
917-555-4865
"I thought it would at least say 'Forgeries 'R Us' or something," Peter quipped. Just a name and phone number seemed so… plain. Especially for Neal.
"Nope. What's there is all I need."
"Think she'll call?"
Neal was filling a thermos, and for a moment he didn't answer. When he did, his voice was very quiet. "I don't know."
The Federal building on a weekend bore little resemblance to what the place was like on a typical weekday. Although it was true that crime didn't recognize the difference between the days, most of the Bureau did. In general, it was the local law enforcement officers who were called to emergency scenes; if jurisdiction allowed, the Bureau's agents went in later. Departments had on-call lists for just such occurrences.
There apparently were not a lot of agents actually called in that morning. As Peter pulled in to the parking ramp, he was able to park practically next to the alcove containing the elevator. And that led to another bonus about weekends – very little wait for a car, and express service all the way up to the 21st floor.
The bullpen area was empty when they walked in. In fact, the only other sign of life seemed to be in Hughes' office, Peter noted. And what would bring the New York SAC in on a Saturday?
They climbed the stairs to the second level and Peter led the way into his office. "I guess they were busy yesterday without us," he said, gesturing toward a tall stack of files on his desk. There was a computer disk on the top, and a note in Diana's writing suggesting they start there.
"Looks like… fun," Neal said.
"Hey, no complaining, remember?"
"That wasn't a complaint, just an observation."
Peter raised a skeptical eyebrow but let the matter drop. "Let's set up in the conference room," he suggested. "We can spread everything out." He picked up the stack of files and followed Neal to the next room.
Neal had the cases containing the Egyptian pieces – as well as the thermos with the precious black liquid – and he set them down on the long table. "I'll get a couple of cups," he offered, heading for the door.
Peter set his load down and put the disk to one side for the moment, looking at the files. Someone had carefully labeled each one. They had some good clerks here – he wondered how late one of them had stayed to finish all of this.
He had the lists from Dr. Hunt folded in his jeans pocket and he pulled them out, flattening the paper on the table. Might as well get them sorted by group…
"You're sure? Mike, I really need this information. Yes, I understand you need to be careful. I guess we all do. But anything you can do… Right, thanks, Mike. Give Lisa my best."
Hughes hung up the phone and leaned his head against his hands, elbows on the desk. This was definitely not the way he had planned to spend his Saturday. But after so many dead ends trying to go through official channels, he'd decided to try some unofficial entreaties. And one advantage of being the SAC was access to home phone numbers.
Unfortunately, he was getting nowhere just as fast with the unofficial calls as he had with the official ones.
He sighed and got to his feet, snagging his empty coffee cup. He'd run out of coffee in his office, so it was time for a trip to the break area.
He stopped just before he got to the steps, his attention drawn to the conference room.
The two men sat at the table, heads close together, watching something on a laptop. Their attention on the screen was complete, and they gave no indication of even seeing him. And he stood still, just watching.
An odder couple was harder to imagine – a top notch FBI agent and the convict he had pursued doggedly for years and finally put away. And indeed, when the proposal had first come up, Hughes had had a very hard time imagining that the pairing could come to any good. How could it, when the two men were so diametrically different?
Except it had worked – better than anyone could have predicted. And now it seemed so natural to refer to Burke and Caffrey as a team.
Like Batman and Robin. The Green Hornet and Kato. Starsky and Hutch. Cagney and Lacey. Two partners, different and yet linked as a team.
Well, Burke and Caffrey had them all beat as far as he was concerned.
The elevator dinged its arrival and he looked toward the doors, not at all surprised to see Jones and Barrigan entering the office. Peter surrounded himself with good people.
He nodded a greeting as they came up the stairs.
"We brought donuts," Barrigan said, holding up a bag.
"And coffee," Jones added, holding up the large thermos he carried and nodding toward the empty cup in the SAC's hand.
Hughes smiled and nodded. "Maybe I'll join you for a while."
Peter looked up as the three people entered the conference room. He thought maybe he should be surprised to see Jones and Diana – but then again, not really. "You didn't have to come in on a Saturday," he said, addressing the junior agents.
Jones just shrugged. "All those names you sent, we figured you'd be in. And maybe you could use some help."
"And sugar," Diana added, setting the bag on the table. "Donuts."
Neal's attention was piqued. "Mario's?"
"Of course."
He grinned and opened the bag, extracting a fresh pastry.
Jones poured coffee as Hughes accepted the offer of a donut. "Anything promising?" the SAC asked.
"Amazing the variety of people who are interested in ancient Egyptian artifacts," Peter replied.
Neal selected a folder and slid it across the table. "This guy was at Dr. Hunt's lecture last night. Jeffrey Wallace. He's a day trader for a firm in Pittsburgh."
"That's where the other theft was," Hughes said, opening the folder.
"Right," Peter confirmed. "And the firm has offices here in New York too."
"Anything to link him to the museums?"
"Not yet," Peter admitted. "But it's a connection worth checking out."
"Peter doesn't much like coincidences," Neal added.
"I don't either," Hughes said slowly. "Got a plan yet?"
"No, not really. Neal just recognized the guy a couple of minutes before you came in. There's nothing obvious in the file."
"So maybe we need to look for something not so obvious," Jones said.
"Yeah, we'll need a deeper background," Peter agreed. "Financials, whatever we can find."
"I'm on it." Jones unslung the computer bag from his shoulder, pulling out his laptop.
"We still have a lot of files to go through," Peter said, pointing at an untouched pile.
"Well, you have another set of eyes now," Diana said. She reached over and grabbed the top file.
"Anything you need from me?" Hughes asked.
Peter shook his head. "Not yet. We're just scratching the surface."
Hughes nodded and stood up, coffee and donut in hand. "Well, let me know if there is something. I'll be here for a while."
"Anything new on your end?" Peter asked.
"No, not yet. But I have more calls to make."
They watched as the older man left the conference room, heading back toward his office. After a moment, he turned to his team. "Let's get to work."
"All right, let's call it a day."
Peter looked up from his file, shaking his head. "Oh, no. Neal, you do not get to decide to call it a day."
"Yes I do, Peter. I promised Elizabeth you'd be home by 4:00. Look at the time."
"We can work a little longer," Peter mumbled, scowling at the clock. How had it gotten that late?
"Nope." Neal pulled the agent's chair away from the table, pointing him toward the door. "Your wife scares me."
"Can my wife send you back to prison?"
"Maybe not. But why would you want to bother with all the paperwork when someone else is so anxious to do it for you in a few months?"
The silence in the room hung heavy for a long moment. "I'm sorry," Peter finally said softly. "That was a stupid attempt at a joke." Mental note – no more joking about prison…
"Well, I think Neal's right," Diana said. She closed the file in front of her and clicked the projector off. "It's time to call it a day."
"We have some leads," Jones agreed. "But tracking some of them down on a weekend would be kind of tough. Monday will be better, when people are back at work and we can find them."
Grudgingly, Peter nodded. "All right. You guys win." He stood up and closed the file he had been working on. "Any plans for tonight?"
"Yeah, there's a new piano and wine bar near me," Diana said. "Christie and I were going to check it out. They're supposed to have an open mic night tonight."
"Oh, I love open mic," Jones said, quite enthused. "Where is this place?"
Diana grabbed her blazer and pulled a business card out of the pocket, handing it over. Then she held out a second card. "Neal?"
He shrugged and shook his head slowly. "Your place is outside my radius, so the bar probably is too."
Peter sighed and made a decision. "If you're willing to take responsibility, I won't call the marshals and put the tracking back on," he said, addressing Diana.
"I don't really need babysitting," Neal grumbled.
"Maybe, maybe not," Peter said before continuing, quite seriously. "But like you said, someone is trying hard to put you back inside. Do you really want to give him more ammunition?"
"Well, no," Neal admitted.
"Look, go, have a good time," Peter said, his tone lighter again. "Just stay with Jones and Diana. All right? That way if something does happen – like, say, an art heist – you're covered."
"Come on," Jones encouraged. "You can ride with me. We'll stop at your place so you can change, and then my place so I can get my party duds on."
Neal smirked. "Party duds?"
"Oh, yeah," Jones replied, grinning.
"Great. Then you can meet Christie and me at my place," Diana said. "We'll have dinner and check this place out."
"Are you and Christie going to wear your 'party duds' too?" Neal asked.
Diana just laughed. "I guess you'll have to come and find out."
Neal held up his hands in surrender. "I give up," he said, grinning. "It sounds like fun."
Neal wandered around the living room in Jones' apartment, studying the space – studying the man. He'd never been there before, and there had always been a certain curiosity on his part.
The apartment didn't disappoint.
It was… sturdy, for lack of a better word, kind of like Jones himself. There was nothing overtly flashy, and yet, if you looked, there were stylish touches. The couch was functional – the pillows in a bright pattern with African masks in the center. The color added just the right amount of contrast.
The entertainment center was interesting too. Jones had quite the stereo system – speakers all around, placed strategically to fill the room with sound. Folding doors hid a nice sixty inch flat screen television. Okay, so he hadn't been able to resist looking…
And the music selection…
He'd heard Jones talk about jazz from time to time, but the collection of CDs was outstanding. There was Dixieland, swing, jazz fusion. Even some big band! There were ragtime standards from Joplin, Krell, and Turpin. All the top names were represented - Count Basie, Cab Calloway, Jimmy and Tommy Dorsey, Duke Ellington, Benny Goodman, Fletcher Henderson, Earl Hines, Glenn Miller, Artie Shaw. Lesser known artists graced the shelves as well.
Some of them were even still on vinyl!
Neal was flipping carefully through the albums when Jones came out of the bedroom.
"See anything you like?"
"It's quite a collection," Neal said, carefully setting the albums back in their original position. He turned around, and smiled. Jones had opted for party duds consisting of khakis, a striped shirt, open at the neck, and a navy blazer.
Jones returned the smile, holding out his hands. "What, you don't like it?"
"No, it's fine."
Jones walked up, tugging the lapel of Neal's jacket. "But not quite Caffrey style?"
Neal had opted for a navy suit with a light blue silk shirt – open at the collar. "I'm one of a kind," he replied, grinning.
"And the world is a safer place," Jones threw back. "Ready?"
"Yeah. Let's go."
Jones stopped by the door and opened the closet door, pulling something out. A moment later he closed the closet and turned around, settling something on his head.
"Seriously? A beret?"
"Hey, it's jazzy! Get it?"
"Oh yeah, I got it."
"It's usually a hit with the ladies."
"Still looking for a girlfriend, huh?"
"Hey, maybe we'll both get lucky!"
And that brought to mind memories of the day before, seeing Gayle again, remembering what he had had to run away from then…
"Yeah, maybe we will."
He'd only been to Diana's apartment once, tagging along when Peter had dropped something off. But it was pretty much as he remembered it. Clean in a design sense, feminine without an overload of frills.
That pretty much described the two women as well. There wasn't a frill or a bit of lace anywhere on them, but no one could have argued the femininity. Christie's outfit was a bit more conservative, the skirt falling only a few inches above her knees. The dress itself was mostly red, with a bold geometric pattern in blue and black.
And Diana…
Neal leaned close, his voice low. "Isn't that the dress you wore when…"
"Can it," she whispered back.
"But we had such a pleasant night in the hotel…"
"Are we ready to go?" Diana asked, her voice a little louder than necessary in the small space.
Neal just grinned and held the door.
Dinner passed pleasantly at a trendy Asian fusion restaurant that Christie recommended. They even managed to mostly talk about non-FBI related topics.
And the piano bar…
Neal knew he was in love from the moment he walked in. A pair of baby grand pianos flanked the small stage at the far end. Tables and booths populated the room, strategically placed for a view of the stage. And the wine list…
"Mmmmm, good choice," Christie said, taking a sip of the crisp white pinot noir Neal had recommended.
Diana nodded in agreement. "Is it something a normal person can afford?"
Neal shrugged. "Price is relative. This one is a good value for the money."
"That's why I'll stick with beer," Jones declared, raising his glass.
"Does it keep your vocal cords in shape?" Neal asked. Jones had already impressed them with a rendition of Fly Me to the Moon.
"Secret of my success," Jones confirmed. "But I might have to kill you now that you've discovered it."
"Hey, I bought the beer!" Neal protested.
"Yeah, all right, I guess I'll let it slide then," Jones agreed.
"So what are you singing next?" Christie asked.
"Me?" Jones shook his head. "No, it's someone else's turn."
"Please, someone besides the guy up there now," Diana pleaded.
"Yeah, he is a little off key," Neal agreed, grimacing.
Jones scoffed. "A little?"
Neal leaned forward, motioning to Jones. When the agent leaned in as well, Neal whispered something to him.
Jones smiled broadly and nodded. "Yeah, I know it."
The current singer finished to a smattering of applause. Probably applauding because he was leaving the stage, Neal thought as he got to his feet. Leaving a surprised Diana and Christie at the table he and Jones made their way to the front. While Jones stepped up to the microphone on stage, Neal went to the piano player and leaned in, speaking softly. A moment later the woman slid off the bench and stepped away, and Neal took her place.
He took a moment with the instrument, running a few quick scales. And then he looked up, nodding at Jones. The agent nodded back, and Neal set his fingers, then started to play.
The room was filled with the sounds of Lazybones, just as Johnny Mercer and Hoagy Carmichael would have imagined it.
When they finished, the applause was genuine and sustained.