White Collar fanfiction: The Hangover
Title: The Hangover
Category: Gen, friendship, humor
Characters: mainly Neal & Peter (with a bit of Mozzie)
Spoilers/Warnings: None
Word Count: 3.900
Summary: Neal and Peter wake up one morning with no recollection of what happened the previous day. When it turns out that they might have been involved in an art heist, they have to figure out what happened as soon as possible.
Notes: I'm kind of unsure about this one yet again (ironically enough, this time for the opposite reason than last time). But I'll come back to my usual fluffy h/c-y fics soon enough, I hope. In the meantime, I hope you have fun with a light-hearted humor fic with lots of Neal & Peter banter.
Neal woke up with a pounding headache and no memory of … anything really. Was he on the run? Which country was he in? He looked around the apartment - eerily familiar - and noticed a softly snoring lump on the couch. Also very familiar.
Wait a second. Agent Peter Burke! That gave Neal the much needed boost of adrenaline and he got up and stumbled halfway to the door - before he remembered that Peter wasn't the enemy anymore; He didn't need to run from him.
As his memory of where he was slowly came back - USA, check. New York, check. His apartment at June's, check - he made his way over to Peter, who continued to snore on his couch, unperturbed.
Neal poked him carefully. When nothing happened, he poked him again, a little harder this time, and finally, Peter woke up with a start.
He squinted up at Neal before closing his eyes against the light, groaning and rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“Neal.” For some reason, he didn't sound too happy to see him. “What are you doing here?”
“Right back atcha.”
Peter opened his eyes again and sat up on the couch, taking in his surroundings. Then he amended, “What am I doing here?”
Neal didn't have an answer to that so he just shrugged his shoulders.
“Do you … remember anything?” Peter asked who clearly had the same problems getting his memory back.
“Yeah.”
Peter looked up at him, clearly surprised but also hopeful that Neal might be able to tell him what had happened.
“I'm working with you now,” Neal said because that was pretty much all he had been able to come up with since waking up. He closed his eyes and tried to remember anything about the day before, but he drew a blank.
“Wait a second,” Neal said when he vaguely remembered something. “We were working the Manson case, right?”
“Yes!” Peter said, excited, snapping his fingers. “Anything else?”
But as hard as Neal tried to fill in the blanks, he couldn't remember the night before for the life of him.
Peter was looking around the apartment in the meantime, apparently hoping to find something to jog his memory.
“Neal?”
“Yeah,” Neal said absent-mindedly, still trying to fill in the huge gap in memory.
“Why is there a Van Gogh in your apartment?”
Neal followed Peter's line of sight and groaned inwardly at the beginner's mistake he'd made. He should have checked that there was nothing illegal lying around before waking Peter up.
“I don't know,” he replied truthfully.
Peter looked at him meaningfully.
“Maybe I bought it.”
Peter just continued looking at him.
“Maybe you stole it!” Neal gave it another try, affronted that Peter immediately jumped to the worst possible conclusion (that was, granted, the same Neal had come to).
“Yes. That's most likely what happened.”
But before either of them could say or do anything else, Peter's cell phone rang.
With another look at Neal that clearly said that the conversation was not over yet, Peter took out his cell and answered it.
“Yeah. … I know. - I mean … it was? That is news to us … I mean, to me.”
Neal rolled his eyes at Peter tumbling over his words. Amateur liars!
“Thanks, Di. We'll be right there.”
Peter hung up and faced Neal. “Guess what was stolen last night?”
“I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say … a Van Gogh?”
“This is not funny, Neal!” Peter started, but then he noticed something on his cell phone and said, “Hang on. You left me a message.”
“I did?” Neal asked, trying to remember. When he couldn't, he said, “Well, let's hear it!”
Peter pushed a button and a second later, Neal's own voice said, “Hey Peter. I think I'm about to do something that you might consider … 'stupid and impulsive.'”
Peter scowled at Neal. “No kidding!”
“Shhh!” Neal shushed him so that he could understand what his past self was saying on the voice mail.
“But I think I have a way to catch Manson. So … maybe you want to be there for backup? Anyway, we're at 421 Park Avenue so if you have time to stop by …”
“We?” Peter mouthed at Neal, but in that moment a voice chimed in from the background.
“Oh! Tell him to bring his stun gun!”
“Is that Mozzie?” Peter asked.
“He doesn't have a stun gun!” said Neal on the phone.
“That's what he wants you to believe!”
In the here and now, Peter shook his head. “Of course it's Mozzie!”
“You might have a point there,” Neal conceded meanwhile, and then spoke up louder again, “And bring your stun gun. Oh, and those crackers Elizabeth always buys. I have a strange craving for crackers and they overcharge here for everything!”
With that, the voice mail ended.
Peter looked at his cell for a moment, before putting it back in his pocket and addressing Neal. “Were you drunk?!”
Neal rolled his eyes. “Like that's a revelation at this point.”
“Well, it shows that you were the one getting me into this. Not that that's a surprise.”
“You're responsible for your own choices,” Neal said. “Doesn't matter if someone asks you nicely; if you do it, you're as much to blame.”
Peter looked at him, rendered speechless.
Neal grinned back broadly. “Yeah, didn't think your lectures would come back and bite you in the ass, did you?”
“I'm just baffled to find out you actually listen to me.”
But Neal was done listening for now. He needed answers, and so he took out his cell phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling Mozzie,” Neal said while scrolling down to Mozzie's number. “Apparently he was with me last night. Maybe he can shed some light on what happened.”
Peter's jacket pocket began to buzz and he patted himself down until he found a cell phone in his left jacket pocket. He looked down at it and up at Neal, then down again.
After a couple of rings Neal hung up.
“Did you …” Neal shook his head in order to come to grips with what was happening here. When that didn't help make more sense of the situation, he tried again, “Did you steal Mozzie's cell phone?” He looked at Peter incredulously.
“I don't know.”
Neal continued looking at him.
“Maybe I borrowed it.”
“Mozzie doesn't lend his cell phone to people. Especially not to a fed. - No offense.”
“None taken.”
“I can't believe that you stole Mozzie's cell phone,” Neal mumbled more to himself.
“Would you let it go already? At least I didn't go and steal a Van Gogh!” Peter said, pointing at said painting.
“We don't know that for sure,” Neal countered.
“Oh come on, Neal! There's you, there's me, and there's a stolen painting …”
“Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke,” Neal threw in, but Peter talked right over him, “… It doesn't take much to put two and two together here.”
“You gonna use that argument in court?”
“I might,” Peter replied. Then he started emptying his pockets and put his cell phone, his badge, his wallet and a pair of familiar looking glasses on the table.
“Oh my God, those are Mozzie's!” Neal exclaimed. “Peter,” he then said dryly, “be honest. Did you finally snap and kill Mozzie?”
“Would you stop it?” Peter said exasperatedly. “You may have stolen a priceless piece of art last night, so stop having so much fun with this!”
“You're no fun when you're hung over, you know that?” Neal asked mulishly.
Peter sighed as he rubbed his face. “This is evidence. We have to bring it in.”
“What, are you crazy?”
“Neal, we don't even remember what happened yesterday …”
“Exactly! Which is why we should go check out the address I left on your voice mail. Figure out what happened before we do anything rash.”
Peter rubbed a hand over his face and sighed yet again. “Okay,” he finally relented. “We can make a quick stop there; do a little investigating on our own. But I told Diana we'd be at the bureau shortly, so we don't have much time. - It would really help if you could remember something.”
“Or you could try and remember something,” Neal pointed out.
“You're young and dynamic; you shouldn't have any trouble getting over a little hangover.”
“Playing the age card. Devious,” Neal said admiringly. Then he grinned at Peter. “In that case, try and keep up, Gramps.”
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On their way to the car, Neal hung back a few steps to innocuously text Mozzie on his emergency cell. No reason letting evidence lie around in his loft for Peter to pick up later.
All of a sudden, Peter stopped dead in his tracks, and Neal almost collided with his backside.
“'Get rid of the evidence ASAP'?” Peter asked incredulously, reading from a cell phone in his hand.
“Oops?” Neal said unrepentant, checking if he had accidentally sent the message to the wrong number. Which he hadn't. “That's his emergency cell! I'm pretty sure he keeps it strapped to the inside of his leg or something.”
“I can't believe this!” Peter muttered, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Do you have any more of his cell phones on you?” Neal asked, debating on whether it was wise to try another number.
“Neal!”
“Okay, okay” Neal said, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “Now that I know how strongly you feel about this, I won't try to…”
“Get rid of the evidence?”
“… temporarily misplace the painting,” Neal continued. “Where's your car?” he then asked in order to get Peter off of his back for his perfectly reasonable act of self-preservation.
Peter looked up and down the street and sighed. “Great!”
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They ended up taking a cab, which was most likely how they had gotten to Neal's place last night, too. Peter's headache was only getting worse - Neal's fault, he was sure. Neal managed to give him a headache on his best days. Add the hangover from hell to that, and Neal's cheery energy was even more of a nuisance than usual.
Since they didn't have a car, it took them longer to get to their destination - a sports bar. Which didn't seem like Neal's usual hang out spot, but then again, nothing about this situation was all that usual.
They were just about to enter, when Peter's cell phone (his own, not one of Mozzie's) rang. Before Peter could answer it, however, Neal snatched it from him and answered himself.
“He's not available right now.”
Peter gave him a no-nonsense look, expecting his cell back.
But Neal ignored him and continued, “How nice of you to ask. Obviously we were there to catch the thief.” He shot Peter a quick look and shrugged his shoulders, making it clear that he was winging it.
Peter mad a grab for his cell phone, but Neal took a few steps away.
“No, we didn't. But we're actually hot on his trail right now, so … gotta go. Keep us posted.”
“What the hell was that?!” Peter asked, when Neal had finally hung up and handed the cell phone back to him.
“No offense, but I'm a lot better at lying than you.”
Peter furrowed his brow. “Why would I be offended by that? If anything, you just offended yourself.”
Neal rolled his eyes. “If you say so.”
“Well? Who was it?”
“Oh. Diana. Was wondering where we were. And also why we were on a security camera lingering outside the museum from which the Van Gogh went missing - which, ha! My theory that you were the one stealing the painting doesn't look so bad now, does it?”
“We were what?”
“Lingering!” Neal repeated. “Not entering. Or breakering. - Don't worry, I'm ninety percent sure that I wouldn't have let you get caught on tape committing a crime.”
“I did not commit a crime,” Peter insisted. But he had his cell phone out and was calling Diana back within seconds.
“Diana.”
“Boss. Why is Neal answering your cell phone?”
“Oh, just Neal being Neal. What's up?”
Diana confirmed with a few short sentences what Neal had just recounted, and Peter assured her once again that they were just running down a lead and would be in later.
As soon as he hung up, Neal said, “I just want it on the record that I am deeply offended and a little bit hurt that you didn't trust my word and called her back instead.”
But Peter didn't pay him any mind. “We should go back to the bureau and tell them everything we know.”
“Whoa, hey! You have obviously never been part of a heist before …”
“I'm not part of a heist now!”
“Rule number one. You never confess. - Well, actually, that's more like rule number 5 or something. There's 'Always go in with an escape route' before, and 'Don't ever let the security cameras catch your face' or, more effectively yet 'Never get caught' …”
“Neal!”
“Right. I shouldn't tell you all the tricks. I just thought since we're partners in crime now …”
“We are not partners in crime!” Peter said for what seemed like the tenth time today.
This time it was Neal who ignored Peter. “Now you finally know how I'm feeling all the time, working for the other side.” He was bouncing excitedly, more like a kid on a sugar high than Peter had ever seen him. “So, how does it feel on my side of the law? Got your pulse racing yet?”
“On your former side of the law. Which I'm not even on. - Come on.” He took Neal by the arm to make sure he got his head out of the clouds and came along. Then they entered the bar they had been to the night before.
There was hardly anyone there this time of day. Peter finally let go of Neal's arm, which stopped Neal's muttering about 'unnecessary fed brutality,' and walked straight up to the bartender.
Showing him his badge, he began asking questions, but the bartender wasn't very forthcoming. Apparently there had been quite a crowd the day before and he didn't remember their faces.
Neal opened his wallet (wait, no! Peter's wallet! When had he picked his pocket?!) and slid twenty bucks across the counter. “Jog your memory?” he asked.
Peter snatched his wallet out of Neal's hand and put it back in his jacket pocket. “That's not going to make him remember!”
“Bartenders always start talking for a twenty.”
“Yeah. In caper movies. In real life, we don't bribe witnesses.”
While Peter and Neal were arguing, the bartender had pocketed the twenty dollar note (Peter's twenty dollar note, thank you very much, which he would so get back from Neal later!) and interrupted them, “Hey, I remember something …”
Peter stopped lecturing Neal about how real life FBI proceedings worked - something he had hoped Neal would have picked up on by now - and stared at the bartender open-mouthed.
“Seriously?! I'm trying to make a point here!” Then he sighed and mumbled to himself, “Why do I even bother?!”
“You had two rounds of beer, I think, with a couple other guys. Played a little pool - He always won.” He nodded to Neal, who smiled brightly.
“Naturally.”
Peter rolled his eyes.
The bartender seemed unimpressed and simply continued, “And then you arrested the little guy. That's all I know.” And with that he went back to polishing some glasses.
Neal turned to Peter, flabbergasted. “You arrested Mozzie?”
“I'm sure he had it coming.”
“I can't believe that you arrested Mozzie!”
“Oh hush. - Hey!” Peter called out to the bartender once more. “You know what I arrested him for?”
“Dunno. For always getting this one into trouble or something,” the bartender said with another nod at Neal.
“So …” Neal began.
“Don't say it!” Peter warned.
But as so often, Neal didn't listen to him. “Getting me into trouble is a federal crime now?”
“Let's just … get him out of jail. See what he knows.”
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Fortunately, it turned out that Peter's car was still parked near the bar so that they had wheels now and didn't need to hail a cab. But unfortunately, they had to guess as to where they had taken Mozzie. The police station might have been an obvious choice, but since Peter insisted on checking in with the rest of the team, they checked the FBI holding cells first - and got lucky.
“Finally! I can't believe you left me in here the whole night! I mean, I can believe that he would leave me to rot in here …” Mozzie sent Peter a dark look, “but Neal? I was counting on you to break me out. It took you this long to sleep the drugs off?”
Mozzie finally stopped talking in order to take a breath when Peter opened the holding cell to let him out.
“Wait, drugs? What drugs?” Peter asked.
“I can't see anything,” Mozzie complained, squinting at them. “If that was your way of preventing me from breaking out, then I bet this constitutes cruel and unusual punishment!”
“Here you go, buddy,” Neal said, handing Mozzie's glasses to him as well as his cell phones.
“Stop picking my pockets!” Peter admonished Neal, before turning back to Mozzie who was polishing his glasses before putting them on. “What drugs?”
“What are you asking me for? You are the ones who figured it out. Apparently that Manson character didn't trust you - not that I can blame him - and tried to get answers out of you by roofieing you.”
“And you are the only one who was unaffected?” Peter asked warily. “That's awfully convenient.”
Mozzie crossed his arms and stuck out his chin. “What are you accusing me of, Suit?” When Peter just continued staring at him unimpressed, he went on to explain, “I don't accept drinks from strangers. And both of you laughed at me for it. Well, who is laughing now? Ha!”
“Wait, so you were just sitting around while we were getting drugged and started acting drunk after only two beers - and you didn't think that we were acting … strange at all?” Peter asked.
“Of course I thought you were acting strange,” Mozzie said in a 'well, duh!' voice. “But you are always acting strange.”
“Look who's talking,” Peter mumbled.
“So, what happened then?” Neal wanted to know, but Peter's phone interrupted him yet again.
“Damn, we still haven't checked in with the team,” Peter said before answering.
Neal quickly put it on loudspeaker so that he could listen in, earning himself a stern look from Peter who slapped his hand away from his cell phone.
“Hey boss. Don't know where you have been, but while you were lazing around, we caught our thief. Red-handed. Tried to sell the stolen painting.”
“You found the stolen painting?” asked Peter puzzled. “And you have the thief in custody?” he added, shooting a confused look at Neal.
“Yeah. Not bad for a day's work. Any time you feel like coming in … Though we've pretty much got it handled.”
“Okay. Uhm … good work. I guess.”
With that he hung up and turned to Neal.
Neal was a bit taken aback himself. “Then what about the painting that we stole?”
“That you stole,” Peter corrected. After a moment's contemplation he asked, “Did you check if it's a forgery?”
“When would I have had time to check for that? You were with me the whole time. Come to think of it, you're not exactly on top of your game today, are you?”
“Excuse me?”
“Well, first you let us get roofied,” Neal began, but was interrupted by Peter.
“Let us? What, am I your personal roofie tester?”
“And then,” Neal continued unperturbed, “you didn't even think of checking whether the painting was a forgery or the real deal.”
“Neither did you.”
“I was too busy thinking of ways to get you off my track on the off chance that I did steal it.”
“Oh yeah …”
“See? See?” Mozzie chimed in, interrupting their back-and-forth. “That's exactly what I was talking about. You're always acting strange. How am I supposed to know whether you're on drugs or not?”
Peter shook his head, dismissing Mozzie's comment, and came back to the original question, “That still doesn't explain why there is a forgery of the painting in your apartment.”
Mozzie was looking from Peter to Neal and back. “You seriously don't remember?”
“Moz,” Neal said, “just tell us.”
“Well, first, you scared your bad guy off when you started boasting about your arrest rates. And then you two made a bet that Neal here couldn't forge the painting he was after anyway.”
“Peter, I'm shocked,” Neal said, putting a hand over his heart and faking a hurt expression. “And quite frankly disappointed. That was a rather foolish bet. You of all people should know that that's not even a challenge for me.”
“Well, you were rather intoxicated,” Mozzie threw in.
“So what did I win?”
“Who said you won?” Peter asked. After a beat, he turned to Mozzie. “What did he win?”
“A month off the anklet.”
“Like I'd bet that. Try again.”
“A week off the anklet,” Mozzie amended without missing a beat.
Peter just kept looking at him.
“Okay, it was a day off work,” Mozzie finally relented, throwing his hands up in the air.
“Now that, I can believe.” Peter then turned to Neal. “Take the rest of the day off.”
“The day is already halfway over anyway.”
“And you didn't do any work up till now. So I live up to my debts.”
With that, Peter turned around and left them alone, probably to finally check in with Diana.
Neal clicked his tongue looking after him. “He really should know better by now than to bet against me.”
Mozzie turned away and mumbled something about how they should get out of this unsanitary fed trap.
“Mozzie?”
“Okay, okay,” Mozzie caved. “Technically, you didn't win.”
“What are you talking about?” That didn't even make any sense. Of course Neal would have won a bet like that, intoxicated or not.
“The bet was that you couldn't forge the painting … in under an hour.”
“But you just said …”
“Would you have rather I told the Suit that you owed him a week worth of not complaining about paperwork?”
Neal mulled that over for exactly one second. Then he patted Mozzie on the back. “Nice work, buddy.”
As always, any kind of comment is highly appreciated. ♡
Category: Gen, friendship, humor
Characters: mainly Neal & Peter (with a bit of Mozzie)
Spoilers/Warnings: None
Word Count: 3.900
Summary: Neal and Peter wake up one morning with no recollection of what happened the previous day. When it turns out that they might have been involved in an art heist, they have to figure out what happened as soon as possible.
Notes: I'm kind of unsure about this one yet again (ironically enough, this time for the opposite reason than last time). But I'll come back to my usual fluffy h/c-y fics soon enough, I hope. In the meantime, I hope you have fun with a light-hearted humor fic with lots of Neal & Peter banter.
Neal woke up with a pounding headache and no memory of … anything really. Was he on the run? Which country was he in? He looked around the apartment - eerily familiar - and noticed a softly snoring lump on the couch. Also very familiar.
Wait a second. Agent Peter Burke! That gave Neal the much needed boost of adrenaline and he got up and stumbled halfway to the door - before he remembered that Peter wasn't the enemy anymore; He didn't need to run from him.
As his memory of where he was slowly came back - USA, check. New York, check. His apartment at June's, check - he made his way over to Peter, who continued to snore on his couch, unperturbed.
Neal poked him carefully. When nothing happened, he poked him again, a little harder this time, and finally, Peter woke up with a start.
He squinted up at Neal before closing his eyes against the light, groaning and rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“Neal.” For some reason, he didn't sound too happy to see him. “What are you doing here?”
“Right back atcha.”
Peter opened his eyes again and sat up on the couch, taking in his surroundings. Then he amended, “What am I doing here?”
Neal didn't have an answer to that so he just shrugged his shoulders.
“Do you … remember anything?” Peter asked who clearly had the same problems getting his memory back.
“Yeah.”
Peter looked up at him, clearly surprised but also hopeful that Neal might be able to tell him what had happened.
“I'm working with you now,” Neal said because that was pretty much all he had been able to come up with since waking up. He closed his eyes and tried to remember anything about the day before, but he drew a blank.
“Wait a second,” Neal said when he vaguely remembered something. “We were working the Manson case, right?”
“Yes!” Peter said, excited, snapping his fingers. “Anything else?”
But as hard as Neal tried to fill in the blanks, he couldn't remember the night before for the life of him.
Peter was looking around the apartment in the meantime, apparently hoping to find something to jog his memory.
“Neal?”
“Yeah,” Neal said absent-mindedly, still trying to fill in the huge gap in memory.
“Why is there a Van Gogh in your apartment?”
Neal followed Peter's line of sight and groaned inwardly at the beginner's mistake he'd made. He should have checked that there was nothing illegal lying around before waking Peter up.
“I don't know,” he replied truthfully.
Peter looked at him meaningfully.
“Maybe I bought it.”
Peter just continued looking at him.
“Maybe you stole it!” Neal gave it another try, affronted that Peter immediately jumped to the worst possible conclusion (that was, granted, the same Neal had come to).
“Yes. That's most likely what happened.”
But before either of them could say or do anything else, Peter's cell phone rang.
With another look at Neal that clearly said that the conversation was not over yet, Peter took out his cell and answered it.
“Yeah. … I know. - I mean … it was? That is news to us … I mean, to me.”
Neal rolled his eyes at Peter tumbling over his words. Amateur liars!
“Thanks, Di. We'll be right there.”
Peter hung up and faced Neal. “Guess what was stolen last night?”
“I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say … a Van Gogh?”
“This is not funny, Neal!” Peter started, but then he noticed something on his cell phone and said, “Hang on. You left me a message.”
“I did?” Neal asked, trying to remember. When he couldn't, he said, “Well, let's hear it!”
Peter pushed a button and a second later, Neal's own voice said, “Hey Peter. I think I'm about to do something that you might consider … 'stupid and impulsive.'”
Peter scowled at Neal. “No kidding!”
“Shhh!” Neal shushed him so that he could understand what his past self was saying on the voice mail.
“But I think I have a way to catch Manson. So … maybe you want to be there for backup? Anyway, we're at 421 Park Avenue so if you have time to stop by …”
“We?” Peter mouthed at Neal, but in that moment a voice chimed in from the background.
“Oh! Tell him to bring his stun gun!”
“Is that Mozzie?” Peter asked.
“He doesn't have a stun gun!” said Neal on the phone.
“That's what he wants you to believe!”
In the here and now, Peter shook his head. “Of course it's Mozzie!”
“You might have a point there,” Neal conceded meanwhile, and then spoke up louder again, “And bring your stun gun. Oh, and those crackers Elizabeth always buys. I have a strange craving for crackers and they overcharge here for everything!”
With that, the voice mail ended.
Peter looked at his cell for a moment, before putting it back in his pocket and addressing Neal. “Were you drunk?!”
Neal rolled his eyes. “Like that's a revelation at this point.”
“Well, it shows that you were the one getting me into this. Not that that's a surprise.”
“You're responsible for your own choices,” Neal said. “Doesn't matter if someone asks you nicely; if you do it, you're as much to blame.”
Peter looked at him, rendered speechless.
Neal grinned back broadly. “Yeah, didn't think your lectures would come back and bite you in the ass, did you?”
“I'm just baffled to find out you actually listen to me.”
But Neal was done listening for now. He needed answers, and so he took out his cell phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling Mozzie,” Neal said while scrolling down to Mozzie's number. “Apparently he was with me last night. Maybe he can shed some light on what happened.”
Peter's jacket pocket began to buzz and he patted himself down until he found a cell phone in his left jacket pocket. He looked down at it and up at Neal, then down again.
After a couple of rings Neal hung up.
“Did you …” Neal shook his head in order to come to grips with what was happening here. When that didn't help make more sense of the situation, he tried again, “Did you steal Mozzie's cell phone?” He looked at Peter incredulously.
“I don't know.”
Neal continued looking at him.
“Maybe I borrowed it.”
“Mozzie doesn't lend his cell phone to people. Especially not to a fed. - No offense.”
“None taken.”
“I can't believe that you stole Mozzie's cell phone,” Neal mumbled more to himself.
“Would you let it go already? At least I didn't go and steal a Van Gogh!” Peter said, pointing at said painting.
“We don't know that for sure,” Neal countered.
“Oh come on, Neal! There's you, there's me, and there's a stolen painting …”
“Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke,” Neal threw in, but Peter talked right over him, “… It doesn't take much to put two and two together here.”
“You gonna use that argument in court?”
“I might,” Peter replied. Then he started emptying his pockets and put his cell phone, his badge, his wallet and a pair of familiar looking glasses on the table.
“Oh my God, those are Mozzie's!” Neal exclaimed. “Peter,” he then said dryly, “be honest. Did you finally snap and kill Mozzie?”
“Would you stop it?” Peter said exasperatedly. “You may have stolen a priceless piece of art last night, so stop having so much fun with this!”
“You're no fun when you're hung over, you know that?” Neal asked mulishly.
Peter sighed as he rubbed his face. “This is evidence. We have to bring it in.”
“What, are you crazy?”
“Neal, we don't even remember what happened yesterday …”
“Exactly! Which is why we should go check out the address I left on your voice mail. Figure out what happened before we do anything rash.”
Peter rubbed a hand over his face and sighed yet again. “Okay,” he finally relented. “We can make a quick stop there; do a little investigating on our own. But I told Diana we'd be at the bureau shortly, so we don't have much time. - It would really help if you could remember something.”
“Or you could try and remember something,” Neal pointed out.
“You're young and dynamic; you shouldn't have any trouble getting over a little hangover.”
“Playing the age card. Devious,” Neal said admiringly. Then he grinned at Peter. “In that case, try and keep up, Gramps.”
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On their way to the car, Neal hung back a few steps to innocuously text Mozzie on his emergency cell. No reason letting evidence lie around in his loft for Peter to pick up later.
All of a sudden, Peter stopped dead in his tracks, and Neal almost collided with his backside.
“'Get rid of the evidence ASAP'?” Peter asked incredulously, reading from a cell phone in his hand.
“Oops?” Neal said unrepentant, checking if he had accidentally sent the message to the wrong number. Which he hadn't. “That's his emergency cell! I'm pretty sure he keeps it strapped to the inside of his leg or something.”
“I can't believe this!” Peter muttered, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Do you have any more of his cell phones on you?” Neal asked, debating on whether it was wise to try another number.
“Neal!”
“Okay, okay” Neal said, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “Now that I know how strongly you feel about this, I won't try to…”
“Get rid of the evidence?”
“… temporarily misplace the painting,” Neal continued. “Where's your car?” he then asked in order to get Peter off of his back for his perfectly reasonable act of self-preservation.
Peter looked up and down the street and sighed. “Great!”
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They ended up taking a cab, which was most likely how they had gotten to Neal's place last night, too. Peter's headache was only getting worse - Neal's fault, he was sure. Neal managed to give him a headache on his best days. Add the hangover from hell to that, and Neal's cheery energy was even more of a nuisance than usual.
Since they didn't have a car, it took them longer to get to their destination - a sports bar. Which didn't seem like Neal's usual hang out spot, but then again, nothing about this situation was all that usual.
They were just about to enter, when Peter's cell phone (his own, not one of Mozzie's) rang. Before Peter could answer it, however, Neal snatched it from him and answered himself.
“He's not available right now.”
Peter gave him a no-nonsense look, expecting his cell back.
But Neal ignored him and continued, “How nice of you to ask. Obviously we were there to catch the thief.” He shot Peter a quick look and shrugged his shoulders, making it clear that he was winging it.
Peter mad a grab for his cell phone, but Neal took a few steps away.
“No, we didn't. But we're actually hot on his trail right now, so … gotta go. Keep us posted.”
“What the hell was that?!” Peter asked, when Neal had finally hung up and handed the cell phone back to him.
“No offense, but I'm a lot better at lying than you.”
Peter furrowed his brow. “Why would I be offended by that? If anything, you just offended yourself.”
Neal rolled his eyes. “If you say so.”
“Well? Who was it?”
“Oh. Diana. Was wondering where we were. And also why we were on a security camera lingering outside the museum from which the Van Gogh went missing - which, ha! My theory that you were the one stealing the painting doesn't look so bad now, does it?”
“We were what?”
“Lingering!” Neal repeated. “Not entering. Or breakering. - Don't worry, I'm ninety percent sure that I wouldn't have let you get caught on tape committing a crime.”
“I did not commit a crime,” Peter insisted. But he had his cell phone out and was calling Diana back within seconds.
“Diana.”
“Boss. Why is Neal answering your cell phone?”
“Oh, just Neal being Neal. What's up?”
Diana confirmed with a few short sentences what Neal had just recounted, and Peter assured her once again that they were just running down a lead and would be in later.
As soon as he hung up, Neal said, “I just want it on the record that I am deeply offended and a little bit hurt that you didn't trust my word and called her back instead.”
But Peter didn't pay him any mind. “We should go back to the bureau and tell them everything we know.”
“Whoa, hey! You have obviously never been part of a heist before …”
“I'm not part of a heist now!”
“Rule number one. You never confess. - Well, actually, that's more like rule number 5 or something. There's 'Always go in with an escape route' before, and 'Don't ever let the security cameras catch your face' or, more effectively yet 'Never get caught' …”
“Neal!”
“Right. I shouldn't tell you all the tricks. I just thought since we're partners in crime now …”
“We are not partners in crime!” Peter said for what seemed like the tenth time today.
This time it was Neal who ignored Peter. “Now you finally know how I'm feeling all the time, working for the other side.” He was bouncing excitedly, more like a kid on a sugar high than Peter had ever seen him. “So, how does it feel on my side of the law? Got your pulse racing yet?”
“On your former side of the law. Which I'm not even on. - Come on.” He took Neal by the arm to make sure he got his head out of the clouds and came along. Then they entered the bar they had been to the night before.
There was hardly anyone there this time of day. Peter finally let go of Neal's arm, which stopped Neal's muttering about 'unnecessary fed brutality,' and walked straight up to the bartender.
Showing him his badge, he began asking questions, but the bartender wasn't very forthcoming. Apparently there had been quite a crowd the day before and he didn't remember their faces.
Neal opened his wallet (wait, no! Peter's wallet! When had he picked his pocket?!) and slid twenty bucks across the counter. “Jog your memory?” he asked.
Peter snatched his wallet out of Neal's hand and put it back in his jacket pocket. “That's not going to make him remember!”
“Bartenders always start talking for a twenty.”
“Yeah. In caper movies. In real life, we don't bribe witnesses.”
While Peter and Neal were arguing, the bartender had pocketed the twenty dollar note (Peter's twenty dollar note, thank you very much, which he would so get back from Neal later!) and interrupted them, “Hey, I remember something …”
Peter stopped lecturing Neal about how real life FBI proceedings worked - something he had hoped Neal would have picked up on by now - and stared at the bartender open-mouthed.
“Seriously?! I'm trying to make a point here!” Then he sighed and mumbled to himself, “Why do I even bother?!”
“You had two rounds of beer, I think, with a couple other guys. Played a little pool - He always won.” He nodded to Neal, who smiled brightly.
“Naturally.”
Peter rolled his eyes.
The bartender seemed unimpressed and simply continued, “And then you arrested the little guy. That's all I know.” And with that he went back to polishing some glasses.
Neal turned to Peter, flabbergasted. “You arrested Mozzie?”
“I'm sure he had it coming.”
“I can't believe that you arrested Mozzie!”
“Oh hush. - Hey!” Peter called out to the bartender once more. “You know what I arrested him for?”
“Dunno. For always getting this one into trouble or something,” the bartender said with another nod at Neal.
“So …” Neal began.
“Don't say it!” Peter warned.
But as so often, Neal didn't listen to him. “Getting me into trouble is a federal crime now?”
“Let's just … get him out of jail. See what he knows.”
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Fortunately, it turned out that Peter's car was still parked near the bar so that they had wheels now and didn't need to hail a cab. But unfortunately, they had to guess as to where they had taken Mozzie. The police station might have been an obvious choice, but since Peter insisted on checking in with the rest of the team, they checked the FBI holding cells first - and got lucky.
“Finally! I can't believe you left me in here the whole night! I mean, I can believe that he would leave me to rot in here …” Mozzie sent Peter a dark look, “but Neal? I was counting on you to break me out. It took you this long to sleep the drugs off?”
Mozzie finally stopped talking in order to take a breath when Peter opened the holding cell to let him out.
“Wait, drugs? What drugs?” Peter asked.
“I can't see anything,” Mozzie complained, squinting at them. “If that was your way of preventing me from breaking out, then I bet this constitutes cruel and unusual punishment!”
“Here you go, buddy,” Neal said, handing Mozzie's glasses to him as well as his cell phones.
“Stop picking my pockets!” Peter admonished Neal, before turning back to Mozzie who was polishing his glasses before putting them on. “What drugs?”
“What are you asking me for? You are the ones who figured it out. Apparently that Manson character didn't trust you - not that I can blame him - and tried to get answers out of you by roofieing you.”
“And you are the only one who was unaffected?” Peter asked warily. “That's awfully convenient.”
Mozzie crossed his arms and stuck out his chin. “What are you accusing me of, Suit?” When Peter just continued staring at him unimpressed, he went on to explain, “I don't accept drinks from strangers. And both of you laughed at me for it. Well, who is laughing now? Ha!”
“Wait, so you were just sitting around while we were getting drugged and started acting drunk after only two beers - and you didn't think that we were acting … strange at all?” Peter asked.
“Of course I thought you were acting strange,” Mozzie said in a 'well, duh!' voice. “But you are always acting strange.”
“Look who's talking,” Peter mumbled.
“So, what happened then?” Neal wanted to know, but Peter's phone interrupted him yet again.
“Damn, we still haven't checked in with the team,” Peter said before answering.
Neal quickly put it on loudspeaker so that he could listen in, earning himself a stern look from Peter who slapped his hand away from his cell phone.
“Hey boss. Don't know where you have been, but while you were lazing around, we caught our thief. Red-handed. Tried to sell the stolen painting.”
“You found the stolen painting?” asked Peter puzzled. “And you have the thief in custody?” he added, shooting a confused look at Neal.
“Yeah. Not bad for a day's work. Any time you feel like coming in … Though we've pretty much got it handled.”
“Okay. Uhm … good work. I guess.”
With that he hung up and turned to Neal.
Neal was a bit taken aback himself. “Then what about the painting that we stole?”
“That you stole,” Peter corrected. After a moment's contemplation he asked, “Did you check if it's a forgery?”
“When would I have had time to check for that? You were with me the whole time. Come to think of it, you're not exactly on top of your game today, are you?”
“Excuse me?”
“Well, first you let us get roofied,” Neal began, but was interrupted by Peter.
“Let us? What, am I your personal roofie tester?”
“And then,” Neal continued unperturbed, “you didn't even think of checking whether the painting was a forgery or the real deal.”
“Neither did you.”
“I was too busy thinking of ways to get you off my track on the off chance that I did steal it.”
“Oh yeah …”
“See? See?” Mozzie chimed in, interrupting their back-and-forth. “That's exactly what I was talking about. You're always acting strange. How am I supposed to know whether you're on drugs or not?”
Peter shook his head, dismissing Mozzie's comment, and came back to the original question, “That still doesn't explain why there is a forgery of the painting in your apartment.”
Mozzie was looking from Peter to Neal and back. “You seriously don't remember?”
“Moz,” Neal said, “just tell us.”
“Well, first, you scared your bad guy off when you started boasting about your arrest rates. And then you two made a bet that Neal here couldn't forge the painting he was after anyway.”
“Peter, I'm shocked,” Neal said, putting a hand over his heart and faking a hurt expression. “And quite frankly disappointed. That was a rather foolish bet. You of all people should know that that's not even a challenge for me.”
“Well, you were rather intoxicated,” Mozzie threw in.
“So what did I win?”
“Who said you won?” Peter asked. After a beat, he turned to Mozzie. “What did he win?”
“A month off the anklet.”
“Like I'd bet that. Try again.”
“A week off the anklet,” Mozzie amended without missing a beat.
Peter just kept looking at him.
“Okay, it was a day off work,” Mozzie finally relented, throwing his hands up in the air.
“Now that, I can believe.” Peter then turned to Neal. “Take the rest of the day off.”
“The day is already halfway over anyway.”
“And you didn't do any work up till now. So I live up to my debts.”
With that, Peter turned around and left them alone, probably to finally check in with Diana.
Neal clicked his tongue looking after him. “He really should know better by now than to bet against me.”
Mozzie turned away and mumbled something about how they should get out of this unsanitary fed trap.
“Mozzie?”
“Okay, okay,” Mozzie caved. “Technically, you didn't win.”
“What are you talking about?” That didn't even make any sense. Of course Neal would have won a bet like that, intoxicated or not.
“The bet was that you couldn't forge the painting … in under an hour.”
“But you just said …”
“Would you have rather I told the Suit that you owed him a week worth of not complaining about paperwork?”
Neal mulled that over for exactly one second. Then he patted Mozzie on the back. “Nice work, buddy.”
As always, any kind of comment is highly appreciated. ♡