Let’s hang out sometime
Author: NYWCgirl
Fandom: White Collar
Pairing: none
Characters: Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke,
Warning/genre: hurt/comfort, kidnapped, waking up restrained, shackled, non-consensual drugging,
Spoilers: none
Rating: Gen
Author's Notes: this fic was written for whumptober prompt nr. 1 and it fills the ‘Forced to participate in an illegal activity’ square on my H/C Bingo card.
RAID Recherche, Assistance, Intervention and Dissuasion, is an elite tactical unit of the French national police.
Word Count: ~1600
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine…
Summary: Someone knows who the man in Paris is and he is useful for their plans.
This fic can be found on AO3
Neal always loved Paris in winter. He loves the way everybody looks so fashionable in their winter wear, like it is one long Fashion week. This year snow fell early, covering Paris in a thick white blanket.
Neal leaves his apartment and walks to the newspaper stand where he buys Le Soir, he then continues to a bistro where he orders a café au lait. Since it still is breakfast time, he receives a croissant with his coffee.
A woman enters the establishment and looks around but walks up to Neal.
‘Do you mind if I join you?’
‘Well, as a matter…’
She sits down, studying Neal, who gives her a disapproving look, ‘make yourself comfortable.’ He says sarcastically. He folds his newspaper close and moves to stand up. He is not in the mood for company, how lovely the woman may look. She is an attractive woman, well dressed and she clearly wants something from him.
‘How can I help you?’ Neal always thought there is no reason to be rude or attract unwanted attention.
‘The infamous Neal Caffrey, I couldn´t have dreamed of meeting you.’
‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’
‘I have a job…’
‘Look, no offense, but I am not interested.’
‘But you didn´t let me finish.’ She pouts.
‘Because I am not interested. Sorry, I need to get going.’
‘Well, suit yourself. I hope your little namesake is protected well by his FBI-daddy. So many things can happen to a boy his age.’
Neal takes a step back towards the table and sits down again, ‘look lady, I…’
She just shoves a picture towards Neal, it shows Neal looking if it is clear to cross the street. He is holding a leash of a dog. Neal’s nostrils flare.
‘Look, the kid has nothing to do with this. If you so much as touch a hair on his head, I will make sure you will regret the day you met me.’
‘No need to make idle threats, Neal.’
‘What do you want from me?’
‘I need you to make a reproduction of a painting.’
Neal suspected something like that.
‘OK, what painting do you need?’
The woman takes a picture out of her purse and hands it to Neal.
Neal snorts, ‘Seriously? You want me to paint De rechtvaardige rechters from the Lam Gods?’
‘Yes, it was stolen in 1935, the Belgians have been looking for it ever since.’
‘It was actually stolen in the night of ten to eleven of April 1934. De rechtvaardige rechters and Sint Jan de Doper were stolen from the retable. One panel was recovered on May twenty eight 1934, it was Sint Jan de Doper. The lost panel has been replaced in 1941 by a copy of Jef van der Veken who painted the Belgian King Leopold III in the choir to prove it was a fake. However there is a copy available by Michiel Coxcie, painted in 1559.’
‘Whatever, so I suggest you follow me if you want little Neal to stay safe.’
Neal gets up, ‘lead the way.’
A Mercedes pulls up to the curb, the windows are tinted and Neal doesn´t like it but he can´t take a chance with peter’s son. He gets in and I handed a glass with a clear liquid. Not again! He gulps it down without hesitation. And while the care makes its way on icy roads, Neal´s eyes slip close.
* * *
When he wakes , he is laying on a cot in a dark basement. A shiver travels through his spine. It is really cold. He slowly sits up and feels surprisingly well. Hmm, this doesn´t look like his apartment in Paris, so he didn´t dream the conversation he had with the mystery woman.
When he moves he realizes he is shackled to the wall. An anklet… how ironical. Well, they will have to take him out of this basement if they want him to paint. The conditions down hear will make it impossible to produce a good reproduction.
A couple of hours later, Neal wakes from his slumber when he hears a key turning in the door.
‘The boss wants to see you.’
The man unfastens the anklet and Neal follows the man upstairs. They appear to be on some farm outside of Paris. All he can see is forests.
‘So Neal, ready to try to outsmart Europol?’
Neal rolls his eyes, ‘it’s not like I have much of a choice, so I?’
‘You always have a choice.’
‘Not with you threatening an innocent child.’
The woman stares at him, before turning around, ‘follow me.’
Neal once again does as he is told. They walk into a space that is every artist’s dream. There is a large easel with tables and a cupboard filled with supplies. Canvases are stacked against the wall.
‘This will be your workspace, if you need anything, there is a bell, a servant will make sure you are watered and fed.’
While Neal studies the supplies, one of the goons fastens the chain to a bold in the wall. All the supplies are high quality.
‘I suggest you start painting.’
‘It doesn´t work like that you know, I will need to study the subject.’
‘Well, get to it, there are books in the cupboard. Dinner will be served in two hours.’
* * *
‘I don´t think you understand how this works and how much work it takes.’
‘ I don´t care. Just paint the damn painting.’
‘Look, this isn’t some Andy Warhol, you want it to pass the scrutiny of art experts and law enforcement. That takes time.’
The woman whose name Neal still learned, hands him a picture. It’s Peter with Neal in the park. Peter looks happy. He is pushing Neal on a swing. What gives Neal goosebumps is the man in the background. It is one of the goons that was there when he was taken.
‘So, are we ready to go back to work?’ the woman smiles cruelly.
* * *
Neal sits up again, stretching feeling his joints pop. He really is getting old. He remembers the days when he could paint all night and run a scam during the day.
He steps back and studies his work. It’s perfect. He hates to admit it but it is. Mozzie would be proud of him.
He sits down again and finishes up. The woman enters when he is cleaning his brushes.
‘Oh wow. I was told you are the best, but this is phenomenal.’
Neal refrains from answering.
‘So, what is next?’
‘The paint has to dry, it needs to be varnished and aged properly.’
She nods, ‘you did good. Why don´t you join me for dinner?’
‘No thanks.’
‘It wasn´t a request.’
* * *
‘Yes, the finished product is on its way. Yes, I still have the artist.’
The woman finishes the conversation and walks to the basement. She checks on Neal but he appears to be sleeping. She slips a picture inside, it will give him the message not to try anything. In their original plan she would have killed him, but he is a much better painter that they could have hopes, so he is still useful as long as they can keep him in check.
* * *
Neal gets up pacing the basement, well as far as his chain lets him. It has been weeks since he finished the painting. It is unclear what they want from him, but he is still alive, so there is that. They haven´t asked anything from him, but every time he so much as thinks about escaping, there is a picture of Neal and Peter, unaware of the danger that lurks around them.
He is still contemplating whether to take the risk of overpowering his guards. Van he be quick enough to warn Peter?
Maybe he should put up an ultimatum?
He begins to wonder if they forgot about him when he can hear noises upstairs. There seems to be a fight going on upstairs. Are they here to rescue him or are they here to get themselves a new artist?
Footsteps are coming closer so Neal backs away from the door. The lock is tried and when it doesn´t open it is forced open with what appears to be a battery ram.
‘Quelqu’un ici? Montre-toi!’ A RAID agent calls out.
Neal slowly shows himself, hands up.
‘Êtes-vous Neal Cafffrey?’
‘Qui, c’est moi.’ Neal nods.
The group leader confirms that they have found Neal. They call for tools to free Neal, making it clear they know he was held here involuntarily. Once the anklet is off, Neal is whisked away and before he realizes, he is sitting with a foil blanket in the back of an ambulance. He is handed a bottle of water and a granola bar by the medic.
‘There is someone here who wants to talk to you.’
Neal looks confused at the phone but puts it to his ear.
‘Neal?’
‘Peter?’
‘Are you alright?’
‘I’m fine, how did you find me?’
‘Well, let’s say Havisham had something to do with it, but we’ll talk when I get there. We’re taking the first flight out.’
‘Are you and your family OK?’
‘We are fine Neal, we’re all coming over. I promise I will explain everything. But I must saw, Satchmo in a world renowned painting? Brilliant. See you in a couple of hours.’
Neal looks at the phone proudly, but he is glad the ordeal is over and he can´t wait to hear how Mozzie and Peter worked together to find him.
Translations:
Quelqu’un ici? Montre-toi! - Anybody in here? Show yourself!
Êtes-vous Neal Cafffrey? - Are you Neal Caffrey?
Qui, c’est moi. - Yes, that’s me.
.
Fandom: White Collar
Pairing: none
Characters: Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke,
Warning/genre: hurt/comfort, kidnapped, waking up restrained, shackled, non-consensual drugging,
Spoilers: none
Rating: Gen
Author's Notes: this fic was written for whumptober prompt nr. 1 and it fills the ‘Forced to participate in an illegal activity’ square on my H/C Bingo card.
RAID Recherche, Assistance, Intervention and Dissuasion, is an elite tactical unit of the French national police.
Word Count: ~1600
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine…
Summary: Someone knows who the man in Paris is and he is useful for their plans.
This fic can be found on AO3
Neal always loved Paris in winter. He loves the way everybody looks so fashionable in their winter wear, like it is one long Fashion week. This year snow fell early, covering Paris in a thick white blanket.
Neal leaves his apartment and walks to the newspaper stand where he buys Le Soir, he then continues to a bistro where he orders a café au lait. Since it still is breakfast time, he receives a croissant with his coffee.
A woman enters the establishment and looks around but walks up to Neal.
‘Do you mind if I join you?’
‘Well, as a matter…’
She sits down, studying Neal, who gives her a disapproving look, ‘make yourself comfortable.’ He says sarcastically. He folds his newspaper close and moves to stand up. He is not in the mood for company, how lovely the woman may look. She is an attractive woman, well dressed and she clearly wants something from him.
‘How can I help you?’ Neal always thought there is no reason to be rude or attract unwanted attention.
‘The infamous Neal Caffrey, I couldn´t have dreamed of meeting you.’
‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’
‘I have a job…’
‘Look, no offense, but I am not interested.’
‘But you didn´t let me finish.’ She pouts.
‘Because I am not interested. Sorry, I need to get going.’
‘Well, suit yourself. I hope your little namesake is protected well by his FBI-daddy. So many things can happen to a boy his age.’
Neal takes a step back towards the table and sits down again, ‘look lady, I…’
She just shoves a picture towards Neal, it shows Neal looking if it is clear to cross the street. He is holding a leash of a dog. Neal’s nostrils flare.
‘Look, the kid has nothing to do with this. If you so much as touch a hair on his head, I will make sure you will regret the day you met me.’
‘No need to make idle threats, Neal.’
‘What do you want from me?’
‘I need you to make a reproduction of a painting.’
Neal suspected something like that.
‘OK, what painting do you need?’
The woman takes a picture out of her purse and hands it to Neal.
Neal snorts, ‘Seriously? You want me to paint De rechtvaardige rechters from the Lam Gods?’
‘Yes, it was stolen in 1935, the Belgians have been looking for it ever since.’
‘It was actually stolen in the night of ten to eleven of April 1934. De rechtvaardige rechters and Sint Jan de Doper were stolen from the retable. One panel was recovered on May twenty eight 1934, it was Sint Jan de Doper. The lost panel has been replaced in 1941 by a copy of Jef van der Veken who painted the Belgian King Leopold III in the choir to prove it was a fake. However there is a copy available by Michiel Coxcie, painted in 1559.’
‘Whatever, so I suggest you follow me if you want little Neal to stay safe.’
Neal gets up, ‘lead the way.’
A Mercedes pulls up to the curb, the windows are tinted and Neal doesn´t like it but he can´t take a chance with peter’s son. He gets in and I handed a glass with a clear liquid. Not again! He gulps it down without hesitation. And while the care makes its way on icy roads, Neal´s eyes slip close.
* * *
When he wakes , he is laying on a cot in a dark basement. A shiver travels through his spine. It is really cold. He slowly sits up and feels surprisingly well. Hmm, this doesn´t look like his apartment in Paris, so he didn´t dream the conversation he had with the mystery woman.
When he moves he realizes he is shackled to the wall. An anklet… how ironical. Well, they will have to take him out of this basement if they want him to paint. The conditions down hear will make it impossible to produce a good reproduction.
A couple of hours later, Neal wakes from his slumber when he hears a key turning in the door.
‘The boss wants to see you.’
The man unfastens the anklet and Neal follows the man upstairs. They appear to be on some farm outside of Paris. All he can see is forests.
‘So Neal, ready to try to outsmart Europol?’
Neal rolls his eyes, ‘it’s not like I have much of a choice, so I?’
‘You always have a choice.’
‘Not with you threatening an innocent child.’
The woman stares at him, before turning around, ‘follow me.’
Neal once again does as he is told. They walk into a space that is every artist’s dream. There is a large easel with tables and a cupboard filled with supplies. Canvases are stacked against the wall.
‘This will be your workspace, if you need anything, there is a bell, a servant will make sure you are watered and fed.’
While Neal studies the supplies, one of the goons fastens the chain to a bold in the wall. All the supplies are high quality.
‘I suggest you start painting.’
‘It doesn´t work like that you know, I will need to study the subject.’
‘Well, get to it, there are books in the cupboard. Dinner will be served in two hours.’
* * *
‘I don´t think you understand how this works and how much work it takes.’
‘ I don´t care. Just paint the damn painting.’
‘Look, this isn’t some Andy Warhol, you want it to pass the scrutiny of art experts and law enforcement. That takes time.’
The woman whose name Neal still learned, hands him a picture. It’s Peter with Neal in the park. Peter looks happy. He is pushing Neal on a swing. What gives Neal goosebumps is the man in the background. It is one of the goons that was there when he was taken.
‘So, are we ready to go back to work?’ the woman smiles cruelly.
* * *
Neal sits up again, stretching feeling his joints pop. He really is getting old. He remembers the days when he could paint all night and run a scam during the day.
He steps back and studies his work. It’s perfect. He hates to admit it but it is. Mozzie would be proud of him.
He sits down again and finishes up. The woman enters when he is cleaning his brushes.
‘Oh wow. I was told you are the best, but this is phenomenal.’
Neal refrains from answering.
‘So, what is next?’
‘The paint has to dry, it needs to be varnished and aged properly.’
She nods, ‘you did good. Why don´t you join me for dinner?’
‘No thanks.’
‘It wasn´t a request.’
* * *
‘Yes, the finished product is on its way. Yes, I still have the artist.’
The woman finishes the conversation and walks to the basement. She checks on Neal but he appears to be sleeping. She slips a picture inside, it will give him the message not to try anything. In their original plan she would have killed him, but he is a much better painter that they could have hopes, so he is still useful as long as they can keep him in check.
* * *
Neal gets up pacing the basement, well as far as his chain lets him. It has been weeks since he finished the painting. It is unclear what they want from him, but he is still alive, so there is that. They haven´t asked anything from him, but every time he so much as thinks about escaping, there is a picture of Neal and Peter, unaware of the danger that lurks around them.
He is still contemplating whether to take the risk of overpowering his guards. Van he be quick enough to warn Peter?
Maybe he should put up an ultimatum?
He begins to wonder if they forgot about him when he can hear noises upstairs. There seems to be a fight going on upstairs. Are they here to rescue him or are they here to get themselves a new artist?
Footsteps are coming closer so Neal backs away from the door. The lock is tried and when it doesn´t open it is forced open with what appears to be a battery ram.
‘Quelqu’un ici? Montre-toi!’ A RAID agent calls out.
Neal slowly shows himself, hands up.
‘Êtes-vous Neal Cafffrey?’
‘Qui, c’est moi.’ Neal nods.
The group leader confirms that they have found Neal. They call for tools to free Neal, making it clear they know he was held here involuntarily. Once the anklet is off, Neal is whisked away and before he realizes, he is sitting with a foil blanket in the back of an ambulance. He is handed a bottle of water and a granola bar by the medic.
‘There is someone here who wants to talk to you.’
Neal looks confused at the phone but puts it to his ear.
‘Neal?’
‘Peter?’
‘Are you alright?’
‘I’m fine, how did you find me?’
‘Well, let’s say Havisham had something to do with it, but we’ll talk when I get there. We’re taking the first flight out.’
‘Are you and your family OK?’
‘We are fine Neal, we’re all coming over. I promise I will explain everything. But I must saw, Satchmo in a world renowned painting? Brilliant. See you in a couple of hours.’
Neal looks at the phone proudly, but he is glad the ordeal is over and he can´t wait to hear how Mozzie and Peter worked together to find him.
Translations:
Quelqu’un ici? Montre-toi! - Anybody in here? Show yourself!
Êtes-vous Neal Cafffrey? - Are you Neal Caffrey?
Qui, c’est moi. - Yes, that’s me.
.