White Collar Fic: A-Game
A-Game
Rating: PG
Summary: Team Peter, minus Peter, is still a team. Diana and Jones go to bat for Neal. And win.
A/N: Written for swanpride, for collarcorner's ficswap. I hope you don't mind that I used this lovely prompt of yours as a springboard for the story. I was looking through some of your past prompts to make sure I had a firm idea of the sorts of things you enjoyed before I started out, and that one just grabbed me. :) And let me just say: Jones' POV is fun to write. I'd never given it a try before! So thanks for the inspiration-and I hope you like it. Also, thanks to imbecamiel (*squish hug*) for the hazing-in-the-workplace brainstorming session, and for editing this.
***
In some ways it was the perfect time for Peter to be away, visiting Elizabeth's family.
In other ways he couldn't have picked a worse time.
Jones stared at the page in front of him, a headache building as surely and steadily as if someone were tightening a vise around his brain.
He knew Neal and Diana were wading through just as much paperwork as he was, what with the virtual deluge of mundane and petty crime that was infecting the Bureau’s incoming case files like a contagion. No one, it seemed, had gotten a case that trumped mortgage fraud for interest value, not for days. What's more, it had been raining for nearly as long, creating an irritatingly accurate visual to go with the mood of the office.
In other heartening news, Neal had sprained his ankle yesterday, and no one had been able to decipher his grumbled explanations. None of them really needed to be on their A-game physically, desk-bound as they all were. But Jones wasn't about to try cheering Caffrey up with that sentiment.
O'Conner and Bates were, quite possibly, the only two in the office who appeared to be having a good time, and that was because they were the office morons. Jones had always figured the only reason they'd ever been hired in the first place was to fill that exact lot in life: using up all the dumb and leaving the rest of them free to function like human beings with a brain.
Of course, those ungenerous sentiments could've just conceivably been partly to blame on the mind-numbingly gray weather. Combined with the paper work. And his empty coffee cup.
He made his way on autopilot for the lunch room, pulling up short just as he reached the door.
“God, Caffrey, you should see your face...”
Jones could see Neal's face. It was twisted into a grimace as he stood from the table, wiping his mouth with a napkin and demanding of O'Conner: “What did you put in there? Dog food?''
O'Conner's laugh, joined by Bates’ guffaw, said it all.
Jones stepped fully into the room. “Something funny, gentlemen?”
Conner and Bates looked up with a start, like the guilty duo they were.
“Someone ate Caffrey's lunch,” Bates volunteered.
“'Someone,' huh,” Jones said, watching Neal pull a water bottle out of the fridge and promptly drain half of it. “Someone's been up to a lot of that, lately.”
Neal turned, still nursing the water bottle. He smiled tightly. “It turned out fine, Jones. Bates was a real pal, offered me some leftover spaghetti. His own special recipe and everything.”
“How sweet of him,” Jones said, with a not-so-sweet look in Bate's direction. “Seriously, don't you two have anything better to do with your time? Because if you don't, I'm sure I could talk to Hughes...”
Bates and O'Conner went about clearing up the garbage from their lunch at a satisfactorily scurry, leaving Jones to his coffee and Neal to his water bottle.
“They really are idiots.”
“Yeah,” Neal agreed, resting his hip against the counter to take the weight of his right leg.
“How's the ankle?”
“Fine.”
Jones winced at the first drink of coffee: scalding and dark. “How's the paperwork going?”
Neal shot him a look halfway between beleaguered misery and a dark warning not to ask.
Jones raised his free hand in surrender. “Okay, okay, I hear you. We're all in the same boat, man.”
Neal stared at the door where O'Conner and Bates had just disappeared, heaving a sigh. “I don't suppose we could throw a few people overboard?”
Jones clapped him on the shoulder. “You'll be the first to know when it's put to the vote.”
***
The rain stopped the next day, which turned out to be a false sign of hope as regarded the case load.
While technically assigned as Neal's handler while Peter was away, there had been little need so far for Diana to use Neal in a consultant role in any of his many areas of expertise since Peter had left. There’d been so little to consult on. More often, she'd been occupied in meetings with Hughes, and with interviewing victims of a recent outbreak of jury scams.
Which left what was shaping up to be a prime example of bankruptcy fraud all to Jones. Double- and triple-checking forms, and sniffing out potentially hidden company assets, was what his afternoon was about to be made of.
“...Because I've got places to be, Caffrey. That's why.”
Some voices had the innately soothing ability to calm troubled waters. Others had the charismatic quality that brought out the best in people. O'Conner's voice pretty much made Jones feel like punching a wall. Especially when it turned nasally, in that distinct way it tended to get-usually when O'Conner was on one of his lemme-make-this-hell-for-you stints. Which meant he sounded that way most of the time (which meant that time in his presence generally equaled the nurturing of an unhealthy urge to punch walls).
Jones looked up from his desk to see O'Conner standing over Neal's desk, hands on his hips. Unlike when someone like, say, Peter or Diana stood with their hands on their hips, O'Conner only managed to look like some painfully contrived copy of an FBI agent. It was the hair-gel, Jones decided. His hair was too perfect, like plastic. And the way he squared his shoulders and looked down his nose like he was ready to show the world who was boss.
Actually, if Jones started to classify the ways and reasons O'Conner ticked him off he'd be sitting there categorizing and alphabetizing all day.
It was then that Jones noticed Neal was rising, looking for all the world ready to just give in and do whatever O'Conner had been demanding of him. It was the look on Neal's face-weary resignation, with just a hint of harried rebellion-that got Jones to his feet and over in O'Conner's personal space.
Neal paused. No doubt to witness the...wall punching that was in the air.
“Agent O'Conner.”
“Agent Jones.” O'Conner was doing the nasally thing, and the shoulder-squaring stance.
Jones did the crossed-armed stance of the supremely unimpressed. Seniority was as much about acting senior as having the years to your record. If O'Conner weren't such an idiot, he'd probably know how to challenge Jones' authority. They were nearly on an equal footing, at least in terms of years at the Bureau. But O'Conner was just such an idiot, making him a junior agent in so, so many ways. “You think you can order Caffrey around like you own him?”
“Last I checked, the Bureau did own him.” O'Conner chuckled, looking from Neal to Jones as if he expected them to join in on the friendly barb.
Jones narrowed his eyes. “You have some errand you need run, O'Conner?”
“Yeah. Caffrey just volunteered for the job.”
Jones raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Well I have a better idea. Seeing as Caffrey's got a sprained ankle, why don't you take this,” he confiscated the file from Neal's hands, depositing it in O'Conner’s, “file it yourself, and then get us all something to eat. And do us all a favor and make it burgers instead of Bates’ special recipe.”
O'Conner left, muttering.
“Thanks, Jones,” Neal said, turning back to his desk. But despite his manicured politeness the irritation in his tone was clear.
“I know you can handle that dunce, Caffrey. So what gives?”
Neal glanced up. “Nothing.” He sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck absently. “Maybe I didn't come to work today feeling up to having chest-thumping contests with gorillas.” He shrugged. “And honestly?” A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “That dunce is about the most interesting show in town at the moment.”
Jones snorted. “I hear you.”
He also realized that, despite the protective streak that had demanded he tell O'Conner off, Neal was perfectly capable of fighting his own battles. Neal might look like the “little guy,” easy pickin's. But Jones knew better than that. Neal had been to prison, for crying out loud. The guy had to be used to much worse that O'Conner. This wasn't high school, Neal wasn't the geek, and O'Conner certainly wasn't a jock, however much he might want to consider himself part of the “tough guy” crowd. It was just easy to forget, sometimes, that Caffrey knew how to watch himself. He had a way of acting like life-good and bad-bounced right off him. Maybe it did. Or, maybe, Jones thought with amusement, he was just a con man who was good at acting. Go figure.
“But, seriously, Jones-lunch?” Neal was saying. “You think I'm going to eat anything that guy offers me? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice...”
Jones shrugged. “We'll tell him we changed our minds. He can go see if Diana's hungry. If he doesn't break out in a cold sweat and beg us not to make him offer it to her, we're good to go.”
Neal looked at Jones with newfound appreciation. “Jones. That's actually devious of you.”
“What?” Jones smiled loftily. “You really think you're the only one?” He turned back towards his desk. “Just do us both a favor and don't do O'Conner any favors. He doesn’t need the encouragement.”
Neal saluted him with a pencil. “Aye aye.”
***
Jones slipped into the Paperwork Black Hole for several more hours before he looked up to take note of the Living World once more.
Automatically, Jones' eyes tracked O'Conner. The lunch he'd brought back had turned out to be the bona fide deal. If the artery-clogging thing Jones had devoured in a few bites really qualified as better than dog food. Whatever the health impact, the taste, at least, had been a pleasant break to the overall bleakness of the day.
But now O'Conner was nowhere to be seen. Bates, on the other hand, was busy with his usual “busy work”-cum-loitering. Loitering near Caffrey's desk, as a matter of fact.
Jones begged the universe silently, not for the first time, to tell him when these two were going to get a life.
The universe's answer sounded suspiciously like a yelp-from Caffrey. Followed by a completely unapologetic sounding:
“Hey, sorry, Caffrey. Just needed a file. Didn't realize your leg was there.”
When Neal stood (gripping the edge of the desk for balance), face thunderous enough to almost conceal the tight edge of pain, Jones knew he wasn't alone in watching the scene unfold.
“What is wrong with you, Bates? This isn't kindergarten. Are you really that irrationally vindictive, or just that naturally clumsy?”
Yup. Caffrey could speak for himself. Although, Jones had a suspicion that a few of the longer words were going over Bates' head.
Bates closed the bottom file drawer-the one, Jones surmised, which he'd just managed to slam into Caffrey's sore ankle.
Despite Neal's ire, Bates looked more surprised than truly cowed by it, mumbling, “I'll, ah...just get out of your hair then. You take care of that sprain, huh? Maybe put some ice on it.”
“Yeah,” Neal's tone was dark as he sat down heavily, glaring after Bates, “I'll take care of it.” Some of Neal's normal pleasantness returned in the form of a brittle smile as he called after Bates: “Stay classy, there, Greg.” before saying something under his breath about “subtlety of a semi truck.” But, despite the fact that motivation was clearly not lacking, he made no move to get up and strangle Bates from behind.
Lesson-on-Caffrey number two: the kid did posses restraint, not matter how much of a reckless kleptomaniac he was on paper. Or, at the very least, Jones now had proof that he wasn't a murderer, however much provoked. Peter would be so proud.
Actually, knowing what he knew of Caffrey, Jones did think that of Neal with sarcasm. Whatever else went on in Caffrey's brain, there was a surprisingly earnest side to him, and Jones had seen him bend over backwards at times to try and please Peter. As a rule, too, Neal was liked by the rest of the office. No one had glared at Neal for his outburst. If anything, there'd been several irritated glances following Bates in his retreat. It wouldn't have surprised Jones if part of the reason O'Conner and Bates disliked Neal so much was because he was so generally accepted, criminal past and all (partly because he had Peter's “stamp of approval,” and partly just because he was Neal Caffrey, who had a way of making you look past the tracker around his ankle-or forget about it being there, altogether).
Maybe they weren't in high school-or kindergarten-but O'Conner and Bates had yet to get the memo.
Suddenly, Jones had the overwhelming urge to give it to them. Like living inspiration, Diana came into the room at just that moment, and Jones stopped her on her way past his desk.
“Hey, Diana-could I have word with you?”
“Of course.”
Something in his tone or expression clearly tipped her off that this wasn’t a simple question about some technicality on one of the cases. She gestured him toward the relative privacy of Peter’s office for the discussion.
***
“Jones, Caffrey can take care of himself.”
“I know, I know. He has been. And he's been showing a lot of restraint. He's put up with a lot more than I would've expected of him.”
Diana narrowed her eyes. “Especially with Peter gone. I would have thought he'd take full advantage of the chance to deal with the situation his own way, without the boss watching his every move.”
“Exactly.”
They both regarded each other silently for a moment, considering the implications. Neal was nothing if not a gentleman, and he had an innate sense of fair play. Whatever he might usually consider as proper retribution to put an end to such behavior, he wouldn't do anything that would make Diana look bad. If he acted up now, it would reflect badly on her, making it look like she couldn't handle him with Peter out of the picture. Judging by the thoughtful expression on her face, Jones could see she was coming to the same conclusion.
“Just hear me out,” he asked.
Diana leaned against Peter's desk. “I'm listening.”
“Neal is handling this himself, or at least coping with it. But, I'm telling you, O'Conner and Bates are out of line. It might not be getting to Caffrey, but it's getting to me just watching.”
“You already said something to them,” Diana stated knowingly.
“Yeah,” Clinton acknowledged, not proudly, “probably not my best move. Nobody wants ‘Mom’ telling the bullies off for them.”
There was subtle smile in Diana's eyes. “Mom, huh?”
“Work with the analogy.”
“So, you told them off-and they aren't listening to Mom.”
Jones smiled ruefully. “Imagine that.”
“But you think I can fix this?”
“Well, you're...” Jones gestured to her vaguely, struggling to continue his own analogy, “...like the principle.”
“Hmm.” Diana folded her arms. The amused look remained. “I see. As flattering as I'm sure that is, Clinton, do you really think Caffrey's going to appreciate me meddling in this, too?”
“O'Conner and Bates are scared of you.”
Diana's lips twitched. “Now you really are just stroking my ego.”
“Never.” Jones grinned. “I'd be too scared to try anything of the sort.” He sobered then. “Really, Diana, Caffrey looks beat, what with the sprained ankle and all this being chained to a desk. I wouldn't ask you to do this unless I thought he really needed those two goons off his case. He hasn't complained-not about the coffee spilled on his shirt, or the lunch breaks he's missed because he's too busy running errands for one of them. Or even about dog food spaghetti.” Diana raised an eyebrow, and Jones shook his head: Don't ask. “The only way I've found out about any of this is through observation. Caffrey's not a tattle-tale. But the point is, now that I've meddled a little I've got to follow through. If Peter's taught me anything it's that once you start something, you finish it.”
“Alright, alright, enough.” Diana uncrossed her arms to hold up a staying hand. “I'd have to be a sorry, cold-hearted excuse for a substitute team leader not do something after listening to that.”
“You're the best, Boss.”
Diana gave him a patented look of calm good-humor. “Easy, Special Agent Jones, I haven't made them cry uncle yet.”
“I can hardly wait.”
***
It was spectacularly dramatic-in a deceptively downplayed, subtle way-when Diana called O'Conners and Bates into one of the conference rooms for a “talk.” She didn't do the double-finger point. She didn't have to.
Neal glanced up, frowning, and turned to look at Jones in silent question.
Jones just shrugged innocently. He honestly didn't know what Diana was going to say to them. He only knew it was going to be good.
Not ten minutes later, O'Conner and Bates returned-moving at something between a “scuffle” and “scurry.” It was a scuffling scurry, really: heavy-footed and red-faced. They walked past Caffrey's desk like it didn't exist, making eye contact with no one.
Jones wouldn't have minded admitting he was impressed. In fact, he made a mental note to tell Diana just that. It wouldn't be flattery.
Best of all, Neal's mystified look made it all worth the trouble.
***
The day Peter returned was positively festive for Team Burke. Neal-limp nearly gone-was like a different CI.
But, as it turned out, Neal might've had several reasons to smile.
Jones was absently surveying the office scene when his attention snagged on O'Conner and Bates, who appeared to be putting their heads together over a case (God help that case), discussing something on the computer screen in subdued tones. They'd actually been acting decent since their little “chat” with Diana, and Jones was beginning to think this was the beginning of a new age of manners and grown-up behavior for them.
When Bates gave a short, honest-to-God shriek, everyone within hearing range paused in their work to look at him and O'Conner. O'Conner himself had simultaneously made a noise only slightly more manly, and pushed his rolling chair back so quickly it looked as if he'd been shoved away from the computer by an invisible hand.
There was a lull in the everyday office noise. Then Bates and O'Conner were clumsily covering their moment of-whatever that had just been-and pretending to be more preoccupied with their work than ever.
And then suddenly Caffrey appeared in front of Jones’ desk with a smile on his face that would've put the Cheshire Cat to shame, and deposited a stack of files on his desk with that patented Caffrey air of casual, graceful nonchalance.
Jones looked from Neal's face, over Neal's shoulder at Bates and O'Conner, and then back to Neal.
“Did you just use those files as excuse to come over here and gloat?” Jones inquired quietly-pointedly.
“Gloat, Jones? Whatever gives you the idea I have something to gloat about?”
“The same idea that gives me a hunch those two weren't shrieking like little girls over a picture of Robert Pattinson,” Jones hissed, leaning forward and donning his most earnest and trustworthy expression. “C'mon, man, what did you do to those clowns? What did you send them in that email?”
“A clown,” Neal replied simply.
“A clown?”
“Don't tell me you've never received a friendly scare email, Jones. You know, the kind with an evil, zombie-clown picture that pops out at you?” Neal exaggerated a shudder. “Freaky stuff.”
Jones tried not laugh-too loudly-as he shook his head. “Devious, Caffrey, devious.
“What, you thought you were the only one?”
***
Finis
Thanks for reading!
For anyone who hasn't received a scare email: those things really do make adult men scream like little girls. (And, no, I do not encourage the sending of them. Unless you have a Bates or an O'Conner in your life, mebbe. XD)
Also, swanpride--I know this story is slightly on the short side, and I thought I'd just let you know that I've also been working on a fill for an old prompt of yours, which should be done soon. I hope it all helps to make up a little for the belatedness of getting a fic present out of the ficswap. ;D
Rating: PG
Summary: Team Peter, minus Peter, is still a team. Diana and Jones go to bat for Neal. And win.
A/N: Written for swanpride, for collarcorner's ficswap. I hope you don't mind that I used this lovely prompt of yours as a springboard for the story. I was looking through some of your past prompts to make sure I had a firm idea of the sorts of things you enjoyed before I started out, and that one just grabbed me. :) And let me just say: Jones' POV is fun to write. I'd never given it a try before! So thanks for the inspiration-and I hope you like it. Also, thanks to imbecamiel (*squish hug*) for the hazing-in-the-workplace brainstorming session, and for editing this.
***
In some ways it was the perfect time for Peter to be away, visiting Elizabeth's family.
In other ways he couldn't have picked a worse time.
Jones stared at the page in front of him, a headache building as surely and steadily as if someone were tightening a vise around his brain.
He knew Neal and Diana were wading through just as much paperwork as he was, what with the virtual deluge of mundane and petty crime that was infecting the Bureau’s incoming case files like a contagion. No one, it seemed, had gotten a case that trumped mortgage fraud for interest value, not for days. What's more, it had been raining for nearly as long, creating an irritatingly accurate visual to go with the mood of the office.
In other heartening news, Neal had sprained his ankle yesterday, and no one had been able to decipher his grumbled explanations. None of them really needed to be on their A-game physically, desk-bound as they all were. But Jones wasn't about to try cheering Caffrey up with that sentiment.
O'Conner and Bates were, quite possibly, the only two in the office who appeared to be having a good time, and that was because they were the office morons. Jones had always figured the only reason they'd ever been hired in the first place was to fill that exact lot in life: using up all the dumb and leaving the rest of them free to function like human beings with a brain.
Of course, those ungenerous sentiments could've just conceivably been partly to blame on the mind-numbingly gray weather. Combined with the paper work. And his empty coffee cup.
He made his way on autopilot for the lunch room, pulling up short just as he reached the door.
“God, Caffrey, you should see your face...”
Jones could see Neal's face. It was twisted into a grimace as he stood from the table, wiping his mouth with a napkin and demanding of O'Conner: “What did you put in there? Dog food?''
O'Conner's laugh, joined by Bates’ guffaw, said it all.
Jones stepped fully into the room. “Something funny, gentlemen?”
Conner and Bates looked up with a start, like the guilty duo they were.
“Someone ate Caffrey's lunch,” Bates volunteered.
“'Someone,' huh,” Jones said, watching Neal pull a water bottle out of the fridge and promptly drain half of it. “Someone's been up to a lot of that, lately.”
Neal turned, still nursing the water bottle. He smiled tightly. “It turned out fine, Jones. Bates was a real pal, offered me some leftover spaghetti. His own special recipe and everything.”
“How sweet of him,” Jones said, with a not-so-sweet look in Bate's direction. “Seriously, don't you two have anything better to do with your time? Because if you don't, I'm sure I could talk to Hughes...”
Bates and O'Conner went about clearing up the garbage from their lunch at a satisfactorily scurry, leaving Jones to his coffee and Neal to his water bottle.
“They really are idiots.”
“Yeah,” Neal agreed, resting his hip against the counter to take the weight of his right leg.
“How's the ankle?”
“Fine.”
Jones winced at the first drink of coffee: scalding and dark. “How's the paperwork going?”
Neal shot him a look halfway between beleaguered misery and a dark warning not to ask.
Jones raised his free hand in surrender. “Okay, okay, I hear you. We're all in the same boat, man.”
Neal stared at the door where O'Conner and Bates had just disappeared, heaving a sigh. “I don't suppose we could throw a few people overboard?”
Jones clapped him on the shoulder. “You'll be the first to know when it's put to the vote.”
***
The rain stopped the next day, which turned out to be a false sign of hope as regarded the case load.
While technically assigned as Neal's handler while Peter was away, there had been little need so far for Diana to use Neal in a consultant role in any of his many areas of expertise since Peter had left. There’d been so little to consult on. More often, she'd been occupied in meetings with Hughes, and with interviewing victims of a recent outbreak of jury scams.
Which left what was shaping up to be a prime example of bankruptcy fraud all to Jones. Double- and triple-checking forms, and sniffing out potentially hidden company assets, was what his afternoon was about to be made of.
“...Because I've got places to be, Caffrey. That's why.”
Some voices had the innately soothing ability to calm troubled waters. Others had the charismatic quality that brought out the best in people. O'Conner's voice pretty much made Jones feel like punching a wall. Especially when it turned nasally, in that distinct way it tended to get-usually when O'Conner was on one of his lemme-make-this-hell-for-you stints. Which meant he sounded that way most of the time (which meant that time in his presence generally equaled the nurturing of an unhealthy urge to punch walls).
Jones looked up from his desk to see O'Conner standing over Neal's desk, hands on his hips. Unlike when someone like, say, Peter or Diana stood with their hands on their hips, O'Conner only managed to look like some painfully contrived copy of an FBI agent. It was the hair-gel, Jones decided. His hair was too perfect, like plastic. And the way he squared his shoulders and looked down his nose like he was ready to show the world who was boss.
Actually, if Jones started to classify the ways and reasons O'Conner ticked him off he'd be sitting there categorizing and alphabetizing all day.
It was then that Jones noticed Neal was rising, looking for all the world ready to just give in and do whatever O'Conner had been demanding of him. It was the look on Neal's face-weary resignation, with just a hint of harried rebellion-that got Jones to his feet and over in O'Conner's personal space.
Neal paused. No doubt to witness the...wall punching that was in the air.
“Agent O'Conner.”
“Agent Jones.” O'Conner was doing the nasally thing, and the shoulder-squaring stance.
Jones did the crossed-armed stance of the supremely unimpressed. Seniority was as much about acting senior as having the years to your record. If O'Conner weren't such an idiot, he'd probably know how to challenge Jones' authority. They were nearly on an equal footing, at least in terms of years at the Bureau. But O'Conner was just such an idiot, making him a junior agent in so, so many ways. “You think you can order Caffrey around like you own him?”
“Last I checked, the Bureau did own him.” O'Conner chuckled, looking from Neal to Jones as if he expected them to join in on the friendly barb.
Jones narrowed his eyes. “You have some errand you need run, O'Conner?”
“Yeah. Caffrey just volunteered for the job.”
Jones raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Well I have a better idea. Seeing as Caffrey's got a sprained ankle, why don't you take this,” he confiscated the file from Neal's hands, depositing it in O'Conner’s, “file it yourself, and then get us all something to eat. And do us all a favor and make it burgers instead of Bates’ special recipe.”
O'Conner left, muttering.
“Thanks, Jones,” Neal said, turning back to his desk. But despite his manicured politeness the irritation in his tone was clear.
“I know you can handle that dunce, Caffrey. So what gives?”
Neal glanced up. “Nothing.” He sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck absently. “Maybe I didn't come to work today feeling up to having chest-thumping contests with gorillas.” He shrugged. “And honestly?” A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “That dunce is about the most interesting show in town at the moment.”
Jones snorted. “I hear you.”
He also realized that, despite the protective streak that had demanded he tell O'Conner off, Neal was perfectly capable of fighting his own battles. Neal might look like the “little guy,” easy pickin's. But Jones knew better than that. Neal had been to prison, for crying out loud. The guy had to be used to much worse that O'Conner. This wasn't high school, Neal wasn't the geek, and O'Conner certainly wasn't a jock, however much he might want to consider himself part of the “tough guy” crowd. It was just easy to forget, sometimes, that Caffrey knew how to watch himself. He had a way of acting like life-good and bad-bounced right off him. Maybe it did. Or, maybe, Jones thought with amusement, he was just a con man who was good at acting. Go figure.
“But, seriously, Jones-lunch?” Neal was saying. “You think I'm going to eat anything that guy offers me? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice...”
Jones shrugged. “We'll tell him we changed our minds. He can go see if Diana's hungry. If he doesn't break out in a cold sweat and beg us not to make him offer it to her, we're good to go.”
Neal looked at Jones with newfound appreciation. “Jones. That's actually devious of you.”
“What?” Jones smiled loftily. “You really think you're the only one?” He turned back towards his desk. “Just do us both a favor and don't do O'Conner any favors. He doesn’t need the encouragement.”
Neal saluted him with a pencil. “Aye aye.”
***
Jones slipped into the Paperwork Black Hole for several more hours before he looked up to take note of the Living World once more.
Automatically, Jones' eyes tracked O'Conner. The lunch he'd brought back had turned out to be the bona fide deal. If the artery-clogging thing Jones had devoured in a few bites really qualified as better than dog food. Whatever the health impact, the taste, at least, had been a pleasant break to the overall bleakness of the day.
But now O'Conner was nowhere to be seen. Bates, on the other hand, was busy with his usual “busy work”-cum-loitering. Loitering near Caffrey's desk, as a matter of fact.
Jones begged the universe silently, not for the first time, to tell him when these two were going to get a life.
The universe's answer sounded suspiciously like a yelp-from Caffrey. Followed by a completely unapologetic sounding:
“Hey, sorry, Caffrey. Just needed a file. Didn't realize your leg was there.”
When Neal stood (gripping the edge of the desk for balance), face thunderous enough to almost conceal the tight edge of pain, Jones knew he wasn't alone in watching the scene unfold.
“What is wrong with you, Bates? This isn't kindergarten. Are you really that irrationally vindictive, or just that naturally clumsy?”
Yup. Caffrey could speak for himself. Although, Jones had a suspicion that a few of the longer words were going over Bates' head.
Bates closed the bottom file drawer-the one, Jones surmised, which he'd just managed to slam into Caffrey's sore ankle.
Despite Neal's ire, Bates looked more surprised than truly cowed by it, mumbling, “I'll, ah...just get out of your hair then. You take care of that sprain, huh? Maybe put some ice on it.”
“Yeah,” Neal's tone was dark as he sat down heavily, glaring after Bates, “I'll take care of it.” Some of Neal's normal pleasantness returned in the form of a brittle smile as he called after Bates: “Stay classy, there, Greg.” before saying something under his breath about “subtlety of a semi truck.” But, despite the fact that motivation was clearly not lacking, he made no move to get up and strangle Bates from behind.
Lesson-on-Caffrey number two: the kid did posses restraint, not matter how much of a reckless kleptomaniac he was on paper. Or, at the very least, Jones now had proof that he wasn't a murderer, however much provoked. Peter would be so proud.
Actually, knowing what he knew of Caffrey, Jones did think that of Neal with sarcasm. Whatever else went on in Caffrey's brain, there was a surprisingly earnest side to him, and Jones had seen him bend over backwards at times to try and please Peter. As a rule, too, Neal was liked by the rest of the office. No one had glared at Neal for his outburst. If anything, there'd been several irritated glances following Bates in his retreat. It wouldn't have surprised Jones if part of the reason O'Conner and Bates disliked Neal so much was because he was so generally accepted, criminal past and all (partly because he had Peter's “stamp of approval,” and partly just because he was Neal Caffrey, who had a way of making you look past the tracker around his ankle-or forget about it being there, altogether).
Maybe they weren't in high school-or kindergarten-but O'Conner and Bates had yet to get the memo.
Suddenly, Jones had the overwhelming urge to give it to them. Like living inspiration, Diana came into the room at just that moment, and Jones stopped her on her way past his desk.
“Hey, Diana-could I have word with you?”
“Of course.”
Something in his tone or expression clearly tipped her off that this wasn’t a simple question about some technicality on one of the cases. She gestured him toward the relative privacy of Peter’s office for the discussion.
***
“Jones, Caffrey can take care of himself.”
“I know, I know. He has been. And he's been showing a lot of restraint. He's put up with a lot more than I would've expected of him.”
Diana narrowed her eyes. “Especially with Peter gone. I would have thought he'd take full advantage of the chance to deal with the situation his own way, without the boss watching his every move.”
“Exactly.”
They both regarded each other silently for a moment, considering the implications. Neal was nothing if not a gentleman, and he had an innate sense of fair play. Whatever he might usually consider as proper retribution to put an end to such behavior, he wouldn't do anything that would make Diana look bad. If he acted up now, it would reflect badly on her, making it look like she couldn't handle him with Peter out of the picture. Judging by the thoughtful expression on her face, Jones could see she was coming to the same conclusion.
“Just hear me out,” he asked.
Diana leaned against Peter's desk. “I'm listening.”
“Neal is handling this himself, or at least coping with it. But, I'm telling you, O'Conner and Bates are out of line. It might not be getting to Caffrey, but it's getting to me just watching.”
“You already said something to them,” Diana stated knowingly.
“Yeah,” Clinton acknowledged, not proudly, “probably not my best move. Nobody wants ‘Mom’ telling the bullies off for them.”
There was subtle smile in Diana's eyes. “Mom, huh?”
“Work with the analogy.”
“So, you told them off-and they aren't listening to Mom.”
Jones smiled ruefully. “Imagine that.”
“But you think I can fix this?”
“Well, you're...” Jones gestured to her vaguely, struggling to continue his own analogy, “...like the principle.”
“Hmm.” Diana folded her arms. The amused look remained. “I see. As flattering as I'm sure that is, Clinton, do you really think Caffrey's going to appreciate me meddling in this, too?”
“O'Conner and Bates are scared of you.”
Diana's lips twitched. “Now you really are just stroking my ego.”
“Never.” Jones grinned. “I'd be too scared to try anything of the sort.” He sobered then. “Really, Diana, Caffrey looks beat, what with the sprained ankle and all this being chained to a desk. I wouldn't ask you to do this unless I thought he really needed those two goons off his case. He hasn't complained-not about the coffee spilled on his shirt, or the lunch breaks he's missed because he's too busy running errands for one of them. Or even about dog food spaghetti.” Diana raised an eyebrow, and Jones shook his head: Don't ask. “The only way I've found out about any of this is through observation. Caffrey's not a tattle-tale. But the point is, now that I've meddled a little I've got to follow through. If Peter's taught me anything it's that once you start something, you finish it.”
“Alright, alright, enough.” Diana uncrossed her arms to hold up a staying hand. “I'd have to be a sorry, cold-hearted excuse for a substitute team leader not do something after listening to that.”
“You're the best, Boss.”
Diana gave him a patented look of calm good-humor. “Easy, Special Agent Jones, I haven't made them cry uncle yet.”
“I can hardly wait.”
***
It was spectacularly dramatic-in a deceptively downplayed, subtle way-when Diana called O'Conners and Bates into one of the conference rooms for a “talk.” She didn't do the double-finger point. She didn't have to.
Neal glanced up, frowning, and turned to look at Jones in silent question.
Jones just shrugged innocently. He honestly didn't know what Diana was going to say to them. He only knew it was going to be good.
Not ten minutes later, O'Conner and Bates returned-moving at something between a “scuffle” and “scurry.” It was a scuffling scurry, really: heavy-footed and red-faced. They walked past Caffrey's desk like it didn't exist, making eye contact with no one.
Jones wouldn't have minded admitting he was impressed. In fact, he made a mental note to tell Diana just that. It wouldn't be flattery.
Best of all, Neal's mystified look made it all worth the trouble.
***
The day Peter returned was positively festive for Team Burke. Neal-limp nearly gone-was like a different CI.
But, as it turned out, Neal might've had several reasons to smile.
Jones was absently surveying the office scene when his attention snagged on O'Conner and Bates, who appeared to be putting their heads together over a case (God help that case), discussing something on the computer screen in subdued tones. They'd actually been acting decent since their little “chat” with Diana, and Jones was beginning to think this was the beginning of a new age of manners and grown-up behavior for them.
When Bates gave a short, honest-to-God shriek, everyone within hearing range paused in their work to look at him and O'Conner. O'Conner himself had simultaneously made a noise only slightly more manly, and pushed his rolling chair back so quickly it looked as if he'd been shoved away from the computer by an invisible hand.
There was a lull in the everyday office noise. Then Bates and O'Conner were clumsily covering their moment of-whatever that had just been-and pretending to be more preoccupied with their work than ever.
And then suddenly Caffrey appeared in front of Jones’ desk with a smile on his face that would've put the Cheshire Cat to shame, and deposited a stack of files on his desk with that patented Caffrey air of casual, graceful nonchalance.
Jones looked from Neal's face, over Neal's shoulder at Bates and O'Conner, and then back to Neal.
“Did you just use those files as excuse to come over here and gloat?” Jones inquired quietly-pointedly.
“Gloat, Jones? Whatever gives you the idea I have something to gloat about?”
“The same idea that gives me a hunch those two weren't shrieking like little girls over a picture of Robert Pattinson,” Jones hissed, leaning forward and donning his most earnest and trustworthy expression. “C'mon, man, what did you do to those clowns? What did you send them in that email?”
“A clown,” Neal replied simply.
“A clown?”
“Don't tell me you've never received a friendly scare email, Jones. You know, the kind with an evil, zombie-clown picture that pops out at you?” Neal exaggerated a shudder. “Freaky stuff.”
Jones tried not laugh-too loudly-as he shook his head. “Devious, Caffrey, devious.
“What, you thought you were the only one?”
***
Finis
Thanks for reading!
For anyone who hasn't received a scare email: those things really do make adult men scream like little girls. (And, no, I do not encourage the sending of them. Unless you have a Bates or an O'Conner in your life, mebbe. XD)
Also, swanpride--I know this story is slightly on the short side, and I thought I'd just let you know that I've also been working on a fill for an old prompt of yours, which should be done soon. I hope it all helps to make up a little for the belatedness of getting a fic present out of the ficswap. ;D