WC Fic: The Guardian of Kusanagi
Title: The Guardian of Kusanagi
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Neal/Peter pre-slash; Jones, OFC
Spoilers: None
Content Notice:H/C, angst, casefic, and transformations
Word Count: ~7,800
Summary: “You’ll miss me when I’m gone.” Peter never thought he’d live to see that come true.
A/N: For White Collar H/C Advent, and this prompt from love_82: “Presumed Dead is one of my favorite tropes so I would love to see a story with that. Someone or someones are thought to be dead. Then the Christmas miracle where they find their way home or are found.”
This is Christmasy in that it’s set at Christmas time. That’s all I’ve got.
----
“You’ll miss me when I’m gone.”
Peter never thought he’d live to see that come true.
One Week Ago
“Peter, this insurance fraud case just might be the end of me,” Neal groused as Peter approached his desk, file in hand.
“Oh?” Peter regarded Neal bemusedly.
“It’s so boring, even Jones is falling asleep, and he’s all the way over there. I tell you, if I didn’t have only twenty-nine days left on my sentence, this is the case that would put me over the edge.” He reached for the scissors sticking out of the cup on this desk. “I’m not kidding, I’ll cut the anklet and go right now if you don’t tell me that that is a new case.” He nodded at the file in Peter’s hands. “A different case. An interesting case.”
Peter’s eyebrows, by now, had nearly reached his hairline during this performance. “You done?” he asked.
Neal stared at him earnestly.
“In answer to your plaintive pleas: yes, this is a different case. Japanese antiquities theft.”
Neal surged to his feet and did a small dance, the roll of his hips making Peter blush. “Christmas has come a week early!” he enthused.
Peter cleared his throat. “Just try to contain yourself - we’ve got a debrief with a representative of Japan’s Criminal Investigation Bureau in fifteen. Be on your best behavior, this one’s important.”
Neal rested his hand on his chest. “When am I ever not on my best behavior?”
“Do you really want me to answer that?”
----
Peter stood at the front of the conference room waiting for his agents to settle down. Christmas was in a little more than a week, but the prospect of an interesting art theft case had gotten all of their juices flowing and knocked the end-of-year loginess out of the office.
“Settle down,” Peter said with a smile. When they did, he began, “I’d like to introduce Detective Oshiro Mizuki of Japan’s Criminal Investigation Bureau.”
Detective Oshiro stood and bowed her head to the room full of agents, her eyes taking them all in measuredly, missing nothing. Peter had just met her at a meeting at the Japanese consulate early that morning and already admired her professionalism. She was about his age, he would guess, tall and slender, with a kind of magnetism he’d by now learned to recognize in a person born to lead. He respected her almost from the moment he’d met her.
“Good afternoon, agents,” she said to all of them. “I am honored that your agency is so willing to help on this case - I understand you have had much success in restoring stolen art treasures to their rightful owners in the past.”
“It’s almost our specialty,” Peter said to a round of polite laughter. He sat while Detective Oshiro presented the facts of the case.
About a month before, rumors had reached Oshiro’s department that there was a cache of ancient arms and armor, scrolls, and paintings available on the black market in America, and that the seller had been traced to New York. “The rumor was that the Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi was among these treasures,” she said.
“The Kusanagi?” Neal interrupted, and whistled low. “I thought that sword was a myth.”
Oshiro smiled. “You are familiar with it?”
At the confused expressions on the faces of his co-workers, Neal explained, “Sure - it’s like the Excalibur of Japan, isn’t it? One of three Imperial Regalia dating back to the 7th century. I thought it was supposed to be hidden away in some Shinto shrine?”
“So the monks would have everyone believe. You see, then, why it is so important to us to retrieve it, if the sword in question is the Kusanagi?”
“So you’re now confirming the sword’s existence? And that it’s been missing?”
Neal was interested in the case, Peter could tell - he was sitting forward in his chair, blue eyes intent on their visitor. Peter was struck suddenly by Neal's attractiveness in that moment, then quashed the emotion - while Neal was never more appealing than when his imagination was engaged, this was not the appropriate time to consider it. Or ever, probably, and this unrequited crush he’d been nursing on his CI since he came back from Cape Verde was going to have to stop. He swallowed and turned his attention to Detective Oshiro.
“I confirm nothing,” she replied, “however the other materials being offered are known to have been stolen after the war. Even if the Kusanagi is not among them, their return would be of great significance to the Japanese people.”
“Undoubtedly,” Neal said, and sat back in his chair while Peter stood and took over the presentation.
“The seller is someone believed to be out of the Dallas area, known to us so far only as ‘the Texan.’”
“How original,” Jones snarked, to another round of laughter.
“Whoever he is, he’s in need of a fence, one with ties to international dealers and buyers.” Peter had his eyes on Neal as he spoke.
“Why, Steve Tabernacle has such credentials,” Neal pointed out with a smile.
“He’s a good man,” Peter agreed.
The meeting broke up soon after, with an agreement to put our feelers to this “Texan” about Tabernacle’s interest in what he had to sell. Peter stayed behind because he Detective Oshiro planned to review her case file more closely together. He should not have been surprised that Neal lingered behind.
“Oshiro-san, watashi wa o ai dekite hijō ni ureshiku omoimasu,” Neal said, bowing politely to her.
“I am very pleased to meet you as well,” she replied, holding her right hand out to be shaken.
Neal took it and shook, though his hand held hers for a beat longer than would have been his norm.
“You were right, Agent Burke, he is most charming.” Oshiro said with a smile.
“If amazingly unprofessional,” Peter remarked wryly.
“It is not his professionalism that I am concerned with,” Oshiro replied, covering Neal's hand with her other one, “but rather his dedication to the case.”
“I am nothing if not dedicated to seeing that a national treasure - if the sword in question is the Kusanagi - be returned to the nation of Japan.”
Neal was staring into her eyes as he spoke, the sincerity of his reply not in doubt. For a fraction of a second, Peter thought he saw something else in his eyes, some sort of communication with Oshiro he could not name.
“This I vow,” Neal added, his voice low. Neal's eyes widened momentarily as Oshiro held his gaze; he did not look away until she did, until, it seemed to Peter, she released him.
“Yes, I believe you,” she said and dropped his hand.
Neal left without another word, and Oshiro took her seat again, pulling another copy of the case file from her bag as she and Peter began their own meeting.
Today
“You’ll miss me when I’m gone, you know.”
“Uh-huh,” Peter said with only a trace of condescension; Neal had been whining about the damn insurance fraud files all afternoon.
“Mark my words,” Neal sulked.
“I’m counting the days actually,” Peter teased, “then maybe there’ll be some peace and quiet around here.” They were working in Peter’s office, sharing his desk.
“Twenty-two,” Neal said.
“What?”
“Days. Until I’m out of here.”
Peter met his eyes. “This day’s not over yet,” he pointed out.
“Twenty-two,” Neal mouthed, and then smiled when Peter rolled his eyes.
“Twenty-two?” Jones asked, suddenly standing in the doorway.
“Letters in the Hebrew alphabet,” Neal supplied.
“Days until Neal's going-away party.”
“I’m so glad I got you this gift, then,” Jones replied, holding out the watch/transmitter Neal typically wore on operations when the anklet would endanger his safety.
Neal took the thing and slipped it onto his wrist, frowning. “I will never get used to this gaudy thing.”
“Well, in twenty-two days you’ll never see it again,” Peter pointed out. He stood as Neal did and bent over to unlock the anklet. Next, he handed the key to Jones. Neal's first meeting with “the Texan” - real name Aubrey Williams - was that evening.
“You’re not coming tonight?” Neal asked, surprised.
“Nah, you guys can handle it. Besides, I’ve got that Christmas gala thing at the Met - black tie and everything.” Peter shuddered; this kind of stuff was definitely not in the expected job description when he’d agreed to inherit Hughes’ old job.
“Aw, come on, you look very dapper in a tux,” Neal said, his eyes shining. “And black suits you.”
Peter beamed at him. “You think so?” A compliment from Neal on sartorial matters was not to go unappreciated.
“You’ve definitely got the build for formal wear.”
“You two need a room?” Jones kidded.
Peter felt his ears heat up and cleared his throat. “Now, now, none of that. What’s the plan for tonight?”
Jones ran down the operation - Neal was going in to talk price, try to find out where Williams had gotten the treasures, and where he was keeping them. Detective Oshiro would be riding along in the van - pretty much a typical Monday for the White Collar team.
“Well, I know this investigation is in very capable hands,” Peter said and Jones smiled proudly.
“Your faith in us is appreciated,” Neal said, and he and Jones turned to go prep for the meet with Williams.
“Hey Neal,” Peter called out before they’d reached the top of the stairs. Neal returned, eyebrows raised questioningly. “Be careful, OK?”
Neal smiled winningly, oozing his usual confidence, and Peter smiled back as the con trotted off to catch up with Jones.
----
The next morning, Peter sat at the counter of his favorite coffee shop, not eating the eggs he’d ordered and glaring at his phone. It was 7:47 and Neal was 17 minutes late for their weekly Tuesday breakfast. Neal was rarely late, and when he was, it was usually for a good reason, but it was the occasional not-so-good reason that had Peter annoyed at the moment. He was considering sending a third text message or even trying to contact Mozzie when he realized that he had a foolproof way of locating his partner - the anklet. Rolling his eyes for not having considered it already, he called up the app on his phone, tapped the “Locate” button, then frowned again when he saw where Neal was. He dialed his phone.
“Agent Jones.”
“Jones, it’s me. Is Caffrey at the office?”
“No, wh - oh crap.”
“What?”
“I never put him back on-anklet last night. I forgot it in my desk, and we were all the way uptown, so I just dropped him off at home.”
“What?”
“Well, I mean, he’s only got three weeks on his sentence - I didn’t think there was any harm in leaving it - he’s not gonna do anything to screw his release up now.”
“I see your point, and I would have probably done the same thing, but this is still a breach of protocol, Jones.”
“Sorry, boss.”
“We’ll talk about it later. In the meantime, I don’t know where Neal is - we were supposed to meet for breakfast and he’s late. I guess I’ll just head over there.”
Peter paid his check and left the coffee shop, pausing on the street just outside the door to button his coat and raise his collar - snow flurries had begun to fall while he was inside.
Mew!
He was about to head toward the BMW when a small sound made him pause
Mew!
He looked around himself but didn’t really see anything.
Mew!
A light tugging at his shoelace got his attention and he looked down. Sitting at his feet looking up at him was a tiny kitten. A very tiny kitten. A very tiny, bedraggled, white kitten with black ears and a black smudge over his snout, that was visibly shivering.
Mew! Mew! Mew!
“Hey, little one,” Peter said in the tone of voice he reserved for babies and Satchmo, “what are you doing out here all alone?”
Mew! Mew! Mew!
“You lose your mama?” The kitten pawed at his shoelace again, and her shivering was so bad that Peter really had no choice. Bending over, he scooped her up and held her against his chest. “Oh, you’re shaking so badly!” he said. Unbuttoning his coat and undoing his scarf a little, he eased the kitten close to his body to warm her up. She was still shaking, so he hugged her closer.
He looked around, but no one seemed at all interested in the fact he had their kitten, and he didn’t see any mama cats skulking around. “I guess you’re all alone?”
Mew! the kitten cried plaintively, though her voice was barely audible, and he didn’t like the sound of that - could cats catch cold?
“I’ve got to go and find a wayward conman, but you’re welcome to come with me,” he offered. She closed her eyes and burrowed her face against his chest. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.” He headed off towards his car, resolving to find a home for her later, but for now he really had to find Neal - he was impatient for a debriefing with the team about the prior night’s undercover operation.
----
“Peter, what a lovely surprise,” June said by way of greeting. She closed the door behind him and tilted her chin up to accept a kiss on the cheek. “Oh! Oh my!” she exclaimed when the kitten squirmed out of Peter’s coat.
“My little passenger,” Peter explained. “Found her on the street in Midtown.”
“She’s darling! May I?” June gestured to the kitten and Peter opened his coat so that she could lift it out. She held it against her face and the kitten nuzzled her cheek.
“She’s adorable, right?” Peter asked with a smile. “I’m not sure where she came from or if she belongs to anyone, but I couldn’t just leave her there, you know?”
“You’re a very kind man,” June said approvingly.
“Want a kitten?”
June smiled and handed the ball of fluff back to Peter. “I wish I could, but my dog would terrorize the poor thing, I’m afraid.”
Peter held the kitten in front of his face. “You hear that, little girl? Bugsy’s anti-cat.” He cradled the cat against his chest. “Luckily, Satchmo is not. Huh - maybe I’ve found El’s Christmas present for the year, huh?”
“Then you’d better get to a vet - make sure your little charge is healthy. And by the way - she is a he.”
“She is? I mean, he is?” Peter scanned the kitten’s hindquarters with a quizzical look on his face. “Sorry buddy.”
Mew! Mew! Mew! the kitten replied, and if Peter wasn’t mistaken, he seemed a little put out.
“He’s probably hungry - don’t suppose you’ve got any milk, June?”
She smiled. “I’ve got some Italian roast as well. Come with me.”
He followed her through to her kitchen where she first got a saucer of milk for the kitten - who started lapping it up as if it was starving to death (and for all Peter knew, he was) - and a coffee for Peter.
“You know, offloading a cat wasn’t the purpose for my visit,” Peter said, laying his coat down on a nearby chair. “I’m looking for Neal - he missed our breakfast meeting.”
June furrowed her brow. “I - I don’t think he is at home. At least, I haven’t heard him puttering around up there, and you know Neal.”
“He’s a putterer. Do you mind if I check?”
“Of course.”
She led him up to Neal’s apartment and unlocked the door. The apartment was cold, with no sign of its inhabitant, nor that he’d slept in his bed. “I’ll ask the housekeeper if he came home, shall I?” June asked, clearly concerned.
Peter remained behind, standing respectfully beside the table and trying not to snoop around too much. There was a pile of unopened mail on it, as well as a small package from Amazon - also unopened.
Mew! Mew! Mew!
Peter looked over to the door to see that the kitten had followed them up. He went to scoop him up. “Buddy, did you climb all the way up three flights of stairs?” He shook his finger at the kitten, but it swiped at it with its tiny paw. “You’re as bad as your Uncle Neal,” Peter said with a smile, then added with a whisper, “and almost as cute.” He tucked the kitten against his chest. It began to purr very loudly - a lot of sound for such a tiny thing, Peter thought.
A few minutes later, June returned. “Oh dear, I’m afraid Neal didn’t come home at all last night,” she said worriedly. “Mrs. Grant said his bed hadn’t been slept in, and his mail isn’t opened either.”
“I noticed,” Peter said, looking at the letters.
Mew!
“Shh, I’m worried about your uncle Neal,” Peter said, idly snuggling the kitten against his face; it laid a tiny paw on his jaw.
“What do you suppose this means, Peter?” June asked.
“I wish I knew, June. I wish I knew.”
----
Peter looked across his desk at Jones; he had his fingers steepled in front of his face, squinting at his subordinate as he spoke. “I want you to tell me everything that happened last night - leave no detail out.”
“Peter, what is a kitten doing on your desk?”
Peter’s eyes flicked over to the tiny ball of fur, curled up inside his scarf on the corner of his desk. “Sleeping. Now, what happened last night?”
Jones looked confused, but then began to speak. “Neal had his meeting with Williams. They negotiated terms, and Neal got him to admit he had the sword - or at least he thought he had the genuine article - but Neal couldn’t get him to give up where he was storing it. Williams wouldn’t talk timing, either, though he implied that the deal would go down soon.”
“Then Neal came back?”
Jones nodded. “We were parked two blocks over, and he approached from the rear, like always. He seemed to think the guy meant business, that he had the goods. I had no reason to discount that.”
“Then he gave you the watch?”
“Yeah - and that’s when I offered to drop him home. It was late - after 1:00. I wasn’t going to leave him to hoof it.”
Peter smiled appreciatively - Jones was always thoughtful like that - but what the hell had happened after he’d dropped Neal off?
“Where did you drop him exactly?”
“Up on 109th. 107th was closed because ConEd was digging it all up last night for something.”
Peter recalled the detour from that morning. “So he had to walk down Riverside?”
“I offered to go around the block, but he said he wanted some fresh air. I didn’t think anything of it.”
“What time was it?”
“Maybe 1:30 by that time?”
“I want you to pull surveillance footage for a five block radius - let’s see where he went.”
Jones stood. “Got it, Boss.”
“And Jonesy, keep this under your hat for now, huh?”
Jones cocked his head to the side in an unspoken question: why?
“In case this is nothing, I don’t want to make a big deal, you know?” Peter explained. Jones nodded and left, leaving Peter alone in his office with a bad feeling in his gut.
It wasn’t nothing.
----
It took a surprisingly short time for the surveillance footage to come in from the transit authority, and soon Peter found himself in the conference room watching it with Jones.
“There… is that him?” Jones pointed at the fuzzy image on the traffic cam.
“That’s his walk,” Peter replied.
The man on the footage - Neal, there was no denying it - walked quickly down Riverside, likely because of the late-December chill. He walked out of frame, but the next camera picked him up as he crossed 108th Street, headed south. The next camera had a clearer image of June’s mansion from across the street in the park, but it was a longer shot. It showed Neal nearing the front steps when a large SUV pulled up and someone got out. He spoke with Neal, who backed away with raised hands.
Peter’s heart was in his throat - there was only one reason for Neal to affect that kind of body language - the man had a weapon of some sort pointed at him. Peter lowered his head after Neal got into the SUV, blood rushing in his ears. Neal. Neal!
“We’ll enhance the vid - track the vehicle. We’ll find him, boss,” Jones assured him and rushed from the room to make the call that would get the process started.
Despite the urgency of the situation - and the fact it was now close to twelve hours since Neal's apparent abduction - Peter felt almost paralyzed by worry and fear. He drew in a breath, tried to clear his head, but it didn’t work. He drew in another breath.
A light pressure at his hip got his attention. Looking down, he found the kitten had climbed up onto the chair beside him and was sitting just behind him, blinking up at him. “Hey, buddy - what… how’d you get there?” Peter leaned forward, reached behind to lift the kitten up, and held him cradled against his chest again.
The kitten started purring immediately and began pawing at Peter’s tie, tiny, sharp claws snagging the cheap silk.
“Hey, that’s my favorite tie,” Peter admonished, gently disengaging the thing’s paws, but it was relentless and went for it again. “Aw, I give up - Neal hates this tie anyway.” Peter eased his index finger under the kitten’s chin and began to rub, distracting him from his tie-destruction, and making the kitten purr even louder. When he looked up at him, Peter was struck by just how blue the cat’s eyes were. They reminded him of something...
“Boss, we got an image of the tags on the SUV,” Jones said.
Peter felt a hopeful surge and turned in his seat to look at Jones. “Yeah?”
“The vehicle’s stolen, but it pinged the system when it passed through an EZ Pass toll in the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel at about 2:00 AM. Cameras picked up an image of the driver - it’s Williams.”
Somehow, their suspect must have “made” Neal and followed him home - there was no other explanation. “Anything else?”
“Traffic cameras show the SUV wound up by the river in Brooklyn. As far as we know, they’re still there.”
----
“Is there a reason you brought the cat along?” Jones asked, glancing at the back seat of the BMW.
“What?” Peter asked, distracted. “Oh. Um, Janine’s allergic or something.” Janine was Peter’s assistant.
“He all right back there?”
Peter shrugged and glanced into the rearview. “You won’t scratch up the hand-tooled leather, right buddy?”
Mew?
“That didn’t sound like a promise to me,” Jones pointed out, but Peter ignored him. Traffic was heavier than it ought to have been, and he was contemplating putting on the lights and siren. Neal had now been missing nearly fourteen hours, with no word, and Peter could think of nothing else.
When they finally arrived at the site in Brooklyn, they found themselves, coincidentally, not far from the site where Adler had stowed the U-boat long ago, and Peter felt his heart sink - there were dozens of buildings out here, and they had brought no backup for the search. Jones soon found the SUV - a check of the tags confirmed it - but there was no visible sign on the inside or outside of it that gave up a clue about Neal.
Peter cursed under his breath, looking at all the warehouses before them. “Which one, which one?” he said, a note of desperation in his voice.
There was a squirming in his coat that made him jump. Reaching down, his hand encountered a warm, furry bundle when he put his hand in his pocket. “What the -“ he said as he pulled out the kitten. “How did you get in there?”
But the kitten was squirming so rigorously, Peter feared he’d fall, so he set him on the ground - and the animal took off like a shot.
“Hey! Hey!” Peter said before setting off after him. He felt a pang of worry - this could not be a safe place for a kitten to get lost. Peter followed as the kitten disappeared around the corner of one of the warehouses, Jones reluctantly bringing up the rear. When Peter got to the corner, he saw the kitten standing, looking at him, about twenty yards away. “Hey!” he called out, but the kitten turned and ran, taking a left at his next opportunity.
“It’s almost like he wants us to follow him,” Jones observed.
“Or he just smells tuna,” Peter groused, but there was the little guy, sitting in front of an entry door of the next building, licking a paw and using it to groom his ears. “What the hell do you think you're doing?” Peter said to him as he got closer, hands on his hips and immediately feeling like a jackass.
Mew! Mew! Mew! the kitten said and trotted over to the door.
Approaching the door cautiously, Peter peered through the window in the door to see that inside were three men who were wrapping up what appeared to be Japanese arms and antiquities, placing them into wooden crates that were to be loaded, presumably, into the panel truck parked nearby. “I can’t believe it,” Peter breathed as he pulled back, and Jones had a look for himself.
Jones whistled, low, and unholstered his sidearm. “Take ‘em down, or wait for backup?” he asked.
“If Neal’s in there, I don’t know what waiting buys us. There are only three of them.”
“Works for me.”
Peter bent over and picked up the kitten, held him before his face. “I don’t know how you knew what was going on here, but thanks, buddy,” he said and then shoved the animal back into his pocket with a hurried command to, “Stay.”
Jones raised an eyebrow.
“What? He’s El’s Christmas present. Wouldn’t want to lose him.”
“Sure, sure,” Jones said, as Peter pulled his own gun out of his shoulder holster and gave a count of three.
“FBI! NOBODY MOVE!” Peter bellowed as they stormed inside.
Caught off-guard, two of the men opted to give up and stood with their hands on their heads, legs spread. One of them - who was about the size of the man who’d abducted Neal - made a run for it. Peter took off after him, chasing him through the nearly-empty space and out into the sidewalk, where he promptly and literally ran into a passing forklift and fell to the ground, stunned.
Peter ran up to him and cuffed him, then hauled him to his feet, reading him his rights as he did.
They returned to the warehouse, where Jones had already cuffed the other two, who were sitting on the floor looking annoyed. Peter shoved his own man to sit beside them. “Any sign of Neal? Or Williams?” he asked Jones - none of these three was their suspect.
“None,” Jones said, “But I haven’t done a full sweep.”
Peter looked around - the place seemed to be empty - and took a knee in front of the one he’d caught himself. “Where’s Williams?” The guy pressed his lips into a thin line, refusing to speak. “Things’ll go a lot easier for you if you give him up,” he advised, but the guy wasn’t talking.
Meeeewww! The kitten in Peter’s pocket cried, then struggled to leap out of it again. Peter laid a hand on him and he calmed.
“What about Tabernacle - the fence?” Peter said, leaning closer to the guy. From here, he could see beads of sweat forming on his upper lip. “We know you took him last night - where is he?”
Mew! Mew-mew-mew! The kitten crawled out of Peter’s pocket and hit the floor, scampering off towards the van that had been pulled into the warehouse. “Ah Jeez!” Peter complained as the kitten stopped next to the vehicle’s wheel and looked back at him, mewing urgently. Peter stood and followed, and as per usual, the cat scampered away as soon as he got close to him, heading out of the garage-type door the truck had been brought through and outside.
“You’re making me regret considering adopting you,” Peter told him as he emerged into the daylight. The kitten turned and headed over to the edge of the pier.
Mew-mew-mew-mew-mew! The kitten didn’t stop its excited crying even when Peter got closer, and when he did he saw that the cat was pawing at a dark object on the ground.
“What the -“ As he got closer, Peter’s heart fell - it was a dark grey fedora, just like the one Neal had been wearing the night before. “Come here,” Peter said as he got down on one knee and lifted the kitten up; when he did, he saw that half the cream-colored silk lining of the hat was stained red with blood, and there was a puddle of it on the ground.
“Oh no,” Peter whispered, “No, no, no.” He stood, heart thudding in his chest as a shot of adrenaline hit his system. He saw a trail of blood drips leading away from the hat, towards the river. Reluctantly, he approached the edge of the pier and looked over. There was nothing there but a pair of seagulls floating on the water - he wasn’t sure what he expected to find there. Actually, he was sure of what he didn’t want to find there, but it didn’t help. Peter headed back inside the warehouse, the kitten held protectively against his side.
“Jones, give me a minute, will you?”
Jones, who’d been on the phone calling for backup to come and take their suspects away, looked up, blanching at the look on Peter’s face. “Sure thing, Boss.”
“And get ERT down here asap, yeah?”
“Sure.”
Jones made himself scarce as Peter put the kitten down on the floor. He strode over to the man he’d cuffed earlier, grabbed him by his lapels and hauled him to his feet.
“Where is he? What did you do to him? Where is he?” Peter practically shouted in his face.
“I ain’t giving up Williams!” the guy replied.
“That’s not who I’m talking about and you know it!” Peter screamed, spittle flying from his lips to land on the man’s pale face. “Tabernacle - what happened to him? Tell me!”
“Nothing, I swear!”
“Come on, give it up, Barry,” one of the others said to him. “Or you know they’ll try to pin it on you.”
“Pin what? I didn’t kill him.”
Peter felt his arms go numb and he dropped the man to the floor. “What did you say?”
“I didn’t kill nobody. Williams did!” the man named Barry said.
Peter took a step backwards.
“That guy, Tabernacle - Williams said he was a plant, that he was with the Feds, so we picked him up, to see what he knew.”
Peter’s calm expression belied the turmoil going on inside him - he couldn’t speak; when Barry didn’t go on, he grabbed another fistful of his shirt and shook.
“He wouldn’t give up nothing, so Williams got mad and he -“ Barry shut his mouth.
“He what?” Peter asked, but Barry wouldn’t reply. Peter tightened his grip. “He. What?”
“He shot him.”
Peter closed his eyes and let him go again. “Where - where is the, uh.” He took a deep breath. “Where is the body?”
“In the river.”
Peter nodded and walked away. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, his back ramrod straight.
“Boss? Peter?”
Peter looked at Jones, who stood beside him, a worried expression on his face. How long had he been standing here, shaking? “Yes. Jones.”
“ERT is on the way, and Detective Oshiro is here.”
“Good,” Peter said. “Um, what?”
Jones repeated his statement, and when Peter glanced up, he saw Oshiro standing slightly behind Jones. “Detective,” he said. “The art is here - in those crates. You should perhaps inventory it to see what’s been recovered.”
“Something is wrong?” she asked.
Peter didn’t react, but picking up on his mood, she gave him his space and moved off to inspect the crates.
“Jones. Tell ERT to process this as a murder scene,” Peter said with a kind of calm that was devastating. “And to bring divers.”
“Neal?” Jones asked, shocked.
Peter only shook his head.
----
“It’s not here. The Kusanagi is not here,” Peter overheard Oshiro saying in a loud, accusing tone at the man Barry. She had stalked over to him after a search of the crates and the truck.
Barry looked up at her sullenly; Oshiro, moving almost too fast to track, was on him in a second, her hand at his throat. “You will tell me where it is!” she said in a low voice.
“What - I don’t have it, it’s not here! Williams took it with him!”
“Where? Where is he?” she demanded, her hand squeezing until Barry began to choke.
“Detective!” Jones said to her, but she ignored him.
When Barry began to gag, she loosened her grip, and he coughed.
Mew! Mew-mew-mew!
Peter looked over; the kitten, who he’d almost forgotten about, was pawing at a piece of paper lying on the ground. Jones picked it up - it appeared to be a printout from a laser printer. “Driving directions to Farmingdale,” Jones said.
“What is Farmingdale?” Oshiro demanded, looming over Barry again.
“Stay away from me, you crazy bitch!”
“Call me another name,” she said darkly. “I dare you.”
“What’s in Farmingdale?” Jones asked.
“Airport. Williams was going to rent a plane - he’s got a pilot’s license. Said we were to pack up and meet him there. We were supposed to try to find another buyer somewhere else.”
“He took the sword to Farmingdale?” Oshiro asked.
Barry shrugged. “He had something with him. Coulda been a sword.”
Peter turned away, no longer interested in the conversation; he was aware of movement behind him, and voices, but he couldn’t care what they said. He stood in the doorway facing the river and stared at the spot where he’d found the blood stains at the edge of the pier. His eyes felt hot, his entire body did; there was something building inside of him, something he knew would be ugly if he let it out, and he knew he couldn't, not yet.
A tug at his shoelace drew his attention.
Mew?
Peter bent over and picked up the kitten, turned it upside down and cradled it against his chest, rubbing its small chest gently. It began to purr and hug his hand with its tiny front paws.
“Peter?”
“Hmm?”
“Blake is here, with ERT - they’re ready to start processing the scene. You wanna - you want me to direct the operation? Or take you home?”
Peter swallowed. “No. No, I want you to take me to Farmingdale, Jones. We’ve got some unfinished business there.”
----
The drive to the tiny, local airport was interminable and yet Peter remembered none of it. He sat in the passenger seat of his own car with the kitten curled up on his lap and stared out the window, seeing nothing.
Jones parked in front of the only terminal visible. “Stay here, I’ll be right out,” he said without waiting for an answer.
The kitten stood on Peter’s lap, yawning and watching Jones’ movements.
Jones was back within moments. “Guy matching Williams’ description rented a plane and filed a flight plan to Miami. Hasn’t taken off yet - plane’s in a hangar at the other end of the airport.”
The drive over took moments; when they arrived, Jones put the car in park and took a deep breath before speaking. “Peter, I never thought I’d be the one saying this, but here goes. Inside that building is the man who took one of our own. We are Federal agents first, Neal’s friends second. Do you understand?”
Peter’s head swiveled to the left and he blinked. This was not happening , he thought to himself, but he nodded at Jones. The kitten laid a paw on his hand, as if reminding Peter he was there. Peter picked him up. “You’re staying here.”
Mew! Mew! Mew!
“No arguments,” Peter said, setting the kitten on the floor behind his seat and getting out of the car. The sun was beginning to set. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and Neal would not be spending it with him and Elizabeth as they’d planned. He wanted to cry, he wanted to rage. He needed to hit something.
He would do that all later.
The blood-curdling scream from inside the hangar put those thoughts from his head; it was followed by a rough, animalistic yowl that Peter had never heard before in his life.
“The hell?” Jones said, hands up reflexively in a fighting stance.
Peter pulled his gun out of his shoulder holster as Jones did the same. The hangar’s doors were open, and they moved cautiously over. Peter held up a hand and peeked inside briefly. At first he didn’t see anything, but as his eyes adjusted to the low light inside he saw a man on the ground, struggling, and on top of him - Peter blinked and shook his head - on top of him was what appeared to be a person-sized house cat.
Peter stepped out in the open, Jones behind him, and they stared at the strange display for a moment, incredulous. With this better view, Peter saw that the “cat” appeared to be half human - with a human’s legs and torso, but a cat’s head, front legs, and claws. It had the man - Williams - pinned under its body, its fangs buried in his shoulder. Williams screamed, shocking Peter and Jones out of their reverie.
“Federal agents!” Peter shouted, charging into the hangar with his gun in front of him. “Everyone freeze!”
The cat turned its head and hissed, ears laid back on its head.
“Whoa,” Jones said, stopping short.
Peter took a step forward, and then another. “Step away from him,” he ordered. The cat-like creature growled and spat. Peter took another step closer, and fired over the thing’s head. “Don’t make me shoot you. I know you can understand me. Step away.”
With a growl, the creature let Williams go. Peter took another step forward as it stood up, ears still pinned back and regarding him warily. Jones cursed as the creature before them slowly morphed into a human again - Detective Oshiro. Her eyes, disturbingly, remained like a cat’s, large and green, the pupils slit-like. Her hair, which she typically kept tied in a neat ponytail, flowed over her shoulders and her mouth and throat were stained with Williams’ blood. “He has the sword!” she said, and spat some insult in Japanese that Peter did not understand.
“We don’t know that,” Peter pointed out.
“I do. I know it is here. I feel it.”
“You’re its protector?” Peter guessed.
“For centuries my family have been guardians of the Kusanagi, watched over it. Through war and pestilence we kept it safe, until it was stolen by men such as this,” she paused to kick Williams and Peter wasn’t exactly too worried about making her stop. “For years my mother sought after it, but it eluded her. Then it fell to me to find it, and now it is here, I feel it. I must take it back.”
“It’s evidence.”
“It is sacred.”
She blinked her eyes and they became human once more, and Peter saw how important this thing was to her. He wavered. “Fine, take it. We’ve got enough evidence on this asshole.” What did he care if one more item made it into the inventory or not? Neal was dead, and it made giving a shit about any of this extremely hard.
He stood down and slid the safety home on his gun. He was suddenly so tired. “Jones, you got this?” He didn’t wait for a response, he just walked out of there.
----
Peter sat half inside, half outside the backseat of the BMW, his feet on the ground, rubbing his hands together and trying not to think. Behind him, swarms of FBI processed the crime scene and an ambulance was parked with lights flashing as EMTs saw to Williams’ injuries. He ignored it all.
A tiny, insistent head poked itself between his elbow and his side, and he almost laughed as he moved aside and picked up the kitten. “It’s been a long day, huh? You’re probably hungry,” Peter said to him, closing his eyes. He sighed,“It’s been a bad day. A very bad day.”
The kitten began to purr loudly and Peter lifted him up, burying his nose in his soft fur. “You want to know a secret?” he whispered. “I lost someone very important to me today, someone I love.” His voice caught in his throat. “Now he’ll never know it.”
Mew! Mew! Mew! The kitten began to squirm in his arms as someone approached. Peter glanced up to see Detective Oshiro standing in front of him, looking as flawless as usual, all trace of her cat-like appearance gone.
“What exactly are you, anyway?” Peter asked. Not that it’d make its way into his report - if it did, he’d be up for a psych evaluation faster than he could say meow - he was just curious.
“I am bakeneko, a changing spirit. My family have been guardians of Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi for centuries. Its loss was… a great failure. You cannot know the service you have performed here, Burke-san, or the depth of our gratitude. You have helped restore our honor.” She bowed.
“You’ll forgive me if I’m not feeling all that happy about it, Oshiro-san - that sword cost me a lot today.” He looked away as the tears flooded his eyes, unwanted. “Too much.”
“Caffrey-san, yes. His contribution today has also been great, and his name will be afforded much respect by the people of Japan.” Oshiro cocked her head to the side. “But you have not lost him, he is always with you.”
“It’s a little soon for platitudes, Oshiro-san.”
She only smiled, reached out with her right hand toward him. Taken aback, Peter moved away, but she was not reaching out for him. She placed her hand on the kitten’s head and its purring intensified. “Thank you, little one. You are released,” she said, then turned and left.
Peter looked down at the kitten, who began to squirm in his lap. Taking his hands off it, he let it jump to the ground, where it began to shudder alarmingly.
“Buddy?” Peter said, standing, alarmed for the poor thing.
Mew! Mew! Mew! The kitten began to cry, falling over on its side, shaking and writhing. Peter fell to his knees, hands out to help, to soothe, but suddenly there was a flash of light so bright he had to look away, had to close his eyes. When it receded and he looked back, blinking, the kitten was gone and in its place -
In its place was a naked and shivering Neal Caffrey, looking very, very annoyed.
“Ow.”
“Neal?”
Neal pushed himself to a sitting position. “Yes.”
“Neal!” Peter cried and pulled him roughly into his arms.
“Peter, what the hell?”
“Shut up, will you?” Peter said, before kissing him, surprising them both
----
“Got any, like, socks?”
Neal sat in the back seat of the BMW with Peter’s coat around him, the heat on full blast, but still shivering.
“I do actually.” Peter got out and grabbed his gym bag from the trunk. “They’re kinda dirty though,” Peter said, rooting around in his bag. “Here’s some sweatpants too.” He handed the clothes over and Neal donned them gratefully.
They stared at each other for a moment, words failing.
“So I thought you were dead all day,” Peter said while, at the same time Neal said, “She turned me into a cat?”
“What?” they both said to each other.
“You go first,” Neal said.
“I, um, you were dead. I mean, Williams’ accomplice said he’d shot you. I - I thought you were dead.”
Neal smiled wryly. “Is that why… I mean… the kiss?”
Peter couldn’t look at him.
“I thought I was dead, too, if that helps,” Neal said carefully. “Williams did shoot me, and he threw me in the river, I remember… it was so cold, Peter. I couldn't move, I couldn’t stay afloat. I was dying, and someone - something pulled me out. And then I - it’s all kind of confusing after that.”
“It was detective Oshiro,” Peter explained, wincing at the sheer craziness of it all. “She - changed you. I guess to save you? I’m not sure -she’s kind of disappeared. All I know is you showed up - I mean, this kitten that looked like you showed up - and… No, it’s too crazy to explain to you, and you’re the one it happened to.”
“Try.”
“Later - we should get you to the hospital, anyway, to get checked out.” There was a very ugly scar on Neal's chest - probably from the bullet wound - and Peter wanted to be sure there was no lasting damage.
Neal, brows furrowed, nodded his head in agreement. They sat in silence for a few minutes, then Neal said, “You know, my memory’s still fuzzy, but I remember a few things about the last day or so.”
“Oh?” Peter wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear this.
“I remember you, and looking for you, and being happy when I finally found you. And I remember warmth. And feeling safe.”
Peter smiled, pleased.
“And I remember you saying you loved me.”
The smile left Peter’s face. “Yeah. About that -“
“You didn’t mean it?”
“I did. I just didn’t mean for you to find out like this. Or, you know, ever.”
“It’s OK. I mean, I don’t mind.”
“No?”
“Especially if you wanted to kiss me again.”
“Yeah, that’d be nice." Peter smiled. "Except now I don’t have a Christmas present for El. Kitten-you was it.”
Neal looked down at his hands.
“She probably wouldn’t mind you-you, though, if I wrapped you up in a nice ribbon.”
Neal smiled. “Kinky. I like.”
Peter smiled back. It was going to be a great Christmas.
----
Thank you for your time.
Here is kitten!Neal:
Additional Notes:
• I am certain I’ve gotten Detective Oshiro’s title and agency wrong - the interwebs were not very cooperative when I tried to find out the hierarchy of Japan’s Criminal Investigation Bureau, and the detail of her rank is so minor in the story that after ten minutes’ research I got frustrated and gave up. If anyone has better information, please PM me and I will correct it.
• Here is an interesting article on bakeneko - which can be good as well as evil. Clearly, this one is good. And also a badass. I took great liberties by merging the legend of the changing cats with the sword - artistic license? I needed a “believable” way for Neal to be changed, OK? More kittens who auditioned for the part of Neal:
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Neal/Peter pre-slash; Jones, OFC
Spoilers: None
Content Notice:H/C, angst, casefic, and transformations
Word Count: ~7,800
Summary: “You’ll miss me when I’m gone.” Peter never thought he’d live to see that come true.
A/N: For White Collar H/C Advent, and this prompt from love_82: “Presumed Dead is one of my favorite tropes so I would love to see a story with that. Someone or someones are thought to be dead. Then the Christmas miracle where they find their way home or are found.”
This is Christmasy in that it’s set at Christmas time. That’s all I’ve got.
----
“You’ll miss me when I’m gone.”
Peter never thought he’d live to see that come true.
One Week Ago
“Peter, this insurance fraud case just might be the end of me,” Neal groused as Peter approached his desk, file in hand.
“Oh?” Peter regarded Neal bemusedly.
“It’s so boring, even Jones is falling asleep, and he’s all the way over there. I tell you, if I didn’t have only twenty-nine days left on my sentence, this is the case that would put me over the edge.” He reached for the scissors sticking out of the cup on this desk. “I’m not kidding, I’ll cut the anklet and go right now if you don’t tell me that that is a new case.” He nodded at the file in Peter’s hands. “A different case. An interesting case.”
Peter’s eyebrows, by now, had nearly reached his hairline during this performance. “You done?” he asked.
Neal stared at him earnestly.
“In answer to your plaintive pleas: yes, this is a different case. Japanese antiquities theft.”
Neal surged to his feet and did a small dance, the roll of his hips making Peter blush. “Christmas has come a week early!” he enthused.
Peter cleared his throat. “Just try to contain yourself - we’ve got a debrief with a representative of Japan’s Criminal Investigation Bureau in fifteen. Be on your best behavior, this one’s important.”
Neal rested his hand on his chest. “When am I ever not on my best behavior?”
“Do you really want me to answer that?”
----
Peter stood at the front of the conference room waiting for his agents to settle down. Christmas was in a little more than a week, but the prospect of an interesting art theft case had gotten all of their juices flowing and knocked the end-of-year loginess out of the office.
“Settle down,” Peter said with a smile. When they did, he began, “I’d like to introduce Detective Oshiro Mizuki of Japan’s Criminal Investigation Bureau.”
Detective Oshiro stood and bowed her head to the room full of agents, her eyes taking them all in measuredly, missing nothing. Peter had just met her at a meeting at the Japanese consulate early that morning and already admired her professionalism. She was about his age, he would guess, tall and slender, with a kind of magnetism he’d by now learned to recognize in a person born to lead. He respected her almost from the moment he’d met her.
“Good afternoon, agents,” she said to all of them. “I am honored that your agency is so willing to help on this case - I understand you have had much success in restoring stolen art treasures to their rightful owners in the past.”
“It’s almost our specialty,” Peter said to a round of polite laughter. He sat while Detective Oshiro presented the facts of the case.
About a month before, rumors had reached Oshiro’s department that there was a cache of ancient arms and armor, scrolls, and paintings available on the black market in America, and that the seller had been traced to New York. “The rumor was that the Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi was among these treasures,” she said.
“The Kusanagi?” Neal interrupted, and whistled low. “I thought that sword was a myth.”
Oshiro smiled. “You are familiar with it?”
At the confused expressions on the faces of his co-workers, Neal explained, “Sure - it’s like the Excalibur of Japan, isn’t it? One of three Imperial Regalia dating back to the 7th century. I thought it was supposed to be hidden away in some Shinto shrine?”
“So the monks would have everyone believe. You see, then, why it is so important to us to retrieve it, if the sword in question is the Kusanagi?”
“So you’re now confirming the sword’s existence? And that it’s been missing?”
Neal was interested in the case, Peter could tell - he was sitting forward in his chair, blue eyes intent on their visitor. Peter was struck suddenly by Neal's attractiveness in that moment, then quashed the emotion - while Neal was never more appealing than when his imagination was engaged, this was not the appropriate time to consider it. Or ever, probably, and this unrequited crush he’d been nursing on his CI since he came back from Cape Verde was going to have to stop. He swallowed and turned his attention to Detective Oshiro.
“I confirm nothing,” she replied, “however the other materials being offered are known to have been stolen after the war. Even if the Kusanagi is not among them, their return would be of great significance to the Japanese people.”
“Undoubtedly,” Neal said, and sat back in his chair while Peter stood and took over the presentation.
“The seller is someone believed to be out of the Dallas area, known to us so far only as ‘the Texan.’”
“How original,” Jones snarked, to another round of laughter.
“Whoever he is, he’s in need of a fence, one with ties to international dealers and buyers.” Peter had his eyes on Neal as he spoke.
“Why, Steve Tabernacle has such credentials,” Neal pointed out with a smile.
“He’s a good man,” Peter agreed.
The meeting broke up soon after, with an agreement to put our feelers to this “Texan” about Tabernacle’s interest in what he had to sell. Peter stayed behind because he Detective Oshiro planned to review her case file more closely together. He should not have been surprised that Neal lingered behind.
“Oshiro-san, watashi wa o ai dekite hijō ni ureshiku omoimasu,” Neal said, bowing politely to her.
“I am very pleased to meet you as well,” she replied, holding her right hand out to be shaken.
Neal took it and shook, though his hand held hers for a beat longer than would have been his norm.
“You were right, Agent Burke, he is most charming.” Oshiro said with a smile.
“If amazingly unprofessional,” Peter remarked wryly.
“It is not his professionalism that I am concerned with,” Oshiro replied, covering Neal's hand with her other one, “but rather his dedication to the case.”
“I am nothing if not dedicated to seeing that a national treasure - if the sword in question is the Kusanagi - be returned to the nation of Japan.”
Neal was staring into her eyes as he spoke, the sincerity of his reply not in doubt. For a fraction of a second, Peter thought he saw something else in his eyes, some sort of communication with Oshiro he could not name.
“This I vow,” Neal added, his voice low. Neal's eyes widened momentarily as Oshiro held his gaze; he did not look away until she did, until, it seemed to Peter, she released him.
“Yes, I believe you,” she said and dropped his hand.
Neal left without another word, and Oshiro took her seat again, pulling another copy of the case file from her bag as she and Peter began their own meeting.
Today
“You’ll miss me when I’m gone, you know.”
“Uh-huh,” Peter said with only a trace of condescension; Neal had been whining about the damn insurance fraud files all afternoon.
“Mark my words,” Neal sulked.
“I’m counting the days actually,” Peter teased, “then maybe there’ll be some peace and quiet around here.” They were working in Peter’s office, sharing his desk.
“Twenty-two,” Neal said.
“What?”
“Days. Until I’m out of here.”
Peter met his eyes. “This day’s not over yet,” he pointed out.
“Twenty-two,” Neal mouthed, and then smiled when Peter rolled his eyes.
“Twenty-two?” Jones asked, suddenly standing in the doorway.
“Letters in the Hebrew alphabet,” Neal supplied.
“Days until Neal's going-away party.”
“I’m so glad I got you this gift, then,” Jones replied, holding out the watch/transmitter Neal typically wore on operations when the anklet would endanger his safety.
Neal took the thing and slipped it onto his wrist, frowning. “I will never get used to this gaudy thing.”
“Well, in twenty-two days you’ll never see it again,” Peter pointed out. He stood as Neal did and bent over to unlock the anklet. Next, he handed the key to Jones. Neal's first meeting with “the Texan” - real name Aubrey Williams - was that evening.
“You’re not coming tonight?” Neal asked, surprised.
“Nah, you guys can handle it. Besides, I’ve got that Christmas gala thing at the Met - black tie and everything.” Peter shuddered; this kind of stuff was definitely not in the expected job description when he’d agreed to inherit Hughes’ old job.
“Aw, come on, you look very dapper in a tux,” Neal said, his eyes shining. “And black suits you.”
Peter beamed at him. “You think so?” A compliment from Neal on sartorial matters was not to go unappreciated.
“You’ve definitely got the build for formal wear.”
“You two need a room?” Jones kidded.
Peter felt his ears heat up and cleared his throat. “Now, now, none of that. What’s the plan for tonight?”
Jones ran down the operation - Neal was going in to talk price, try to find out where Williams had gotten the treasures, and where he was keeping them. Detective Oshiro would be riding along in the van - pretty much a typical Monday for the White Collar team.
“Well, I know this investigation is in very capable hands,” Peter said and Jones smiled proudly.
“Your faith in us is appreciated,” Neal said, and he and Jones turned to go prep for the meet with Williams.
“Hey Neal,” Peter called out before they’d reached the top of the stairs. Neal returned, eyebrows raised questioningly. “Be careful, OK?”
Neal smiled winningly, oozing his usual confidence, and Peter smiled back as the con trotted off to catch up with Jones.
----
The next morning, Peter sat at the counter of his favorite coffee shop, not eating the eggs he’d ordered and glaring at his phone. It was 7:47 and Neal was 17 minutes late for their weekly Tuesday breakfast. Neal was rarely late, and when he was, it was usually for a good reason, but it was the occasional not-so-good reason that had Peter annoyed at the moment. He was considering sending a third text message or even trying to contact Mozzie when he realized that he had a foolproof way of locating his partner - the anklet. Rolling his eyes for not having considered it already, he called up the app on his phone, tapped the “Locate” button, then frowned again when he saw where Neal was. He dialed his phone.
“Agent Jones.”
“Jones, it’s me. Is Caffrey at the office?”
“No, wh - oh crap.”
“What?”
“I never put him back on-anklet last night. I forgot it in my desk, and we were all the way uptown, so I just dropped him off at home.”
“What?”
“Well, I mean, he’s only got three weeks on his sentence - I didn’t think there was any harm in leaving it - he’s not gonna do anything to screw his release up now.”
“I see your point, and I would have probably done the same thing, but this is still a breach of protocol, Jones.”
“Sorry, boss.”
“We’ll talk about it later. In the meantime, I don’t know where Neal is - we were supposed to meet for breakfast and he’s late. I guess I’ll just head over there.”
Peter paid his check and left the coffee shop, pausing on the street just outside the door to button his coat and raise his collar - snow flurries had begun to fall while he was inside.
Mew!
He was about to head toward the BMW when a small sound made him pause
Mew!
He looked around himself but didn’t really see anything.
Mew!
A light tugging at his shoelace got his attention and he looked down. Sitting at his feet looking up at him was a tiny kitten. A very tiny kitten. A very tiny, bedraggled, white kitten with black ears and a black smudge over his snout, that was visibly shivering.
Mew! Mew! Mew!
“Hey, little one,” Peter said in the tone of voice he reserved for babies and Satchmo, “what are you doing out here all alone?”
Mew! Mew! Mew!
“You lose your mama?” The kitten pawed at his shoelace again, and her shivering was so bad that Peter really had no choice. Bending over, he scooped her up and held her against his chest. “Oh, you’re shaking so badly!” he said. Unbuttoning his coat and undoing his scarf a little, he eased the kitten close to his body to warm her up. She was still shaking, so he hugged her closer.
He looked around, but no one seemed at all interested in the fact he had their kitten, and he didn’t see any mama cats skulking around. “I guess you’re all alone?”
Mew! the kitten cried plaintively, though her voice was barely audible, and he didn’t like the sound of that - could cats catch cold?
“I’ve got to go and find a wayward conman, but you’re welcome to come with me,” he offered. She closed her eyes and burrowed her face against his chest. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.” He headed off towards his car, resolving to find a home for her later, but for now he really had to find Neal - he was impatient for a debriefing with the team about the prior night’s undercover operation.
----
“Peter, what a lovely surprise,” June said by way of greeting. She closed the door behind him and tilted her chin up to accept a kiss on the cheek. “Oh! Oh my!” she exclaimed when the kitten squirmed out of Peter’s coat.
“My little passenger,” Peter explained. “Found her on the street in Midtown.”
“She’s darling! May I?” June gestured to the kitten and Peter opened his coat so that she could lift it out. She held it against her face and the kitten nuzzled her cheek.
“She’s adorable, right?” Peter asked with a smile. “I’m not sure where she came from or if she belongs to anyone, but I couldn’t just leave her there, you know?”
“You’re a very kind man,” June said approvingly.
“Want a kitten?”
June smiled and handed the ball of fluff back to Peter. “I wish I could, but my dog would terrorize the poor thing, I’m afraid.”
Peter held the kitten in front of his face. “You hear that, little girl? Bugsy’s anti-cat.” He cradled the cat against his chest. “Luckily, Satchmo is not. Huh - maybe I’ve found El’s Christmas present for the year, huh?”
“Then you’d better get to a vet - make sure your little charge is healthy. And by the way - she is a he.”
“She is? I mean, he is?” Peter scanned the kitten’s hindquarters with a quizzical look on his face. “Sorry buddy.”
Mew! Mew! Mew! the kitten replied, and if Peter wasn’t mistaken, he seemed a little put out.
“He’s probably hungry - don’t suppose you’ve got any milk, June?”
She smiled. “I’ve got some Italian roast as well. Come with me.”
He followed her through to her kitchen where she first got a saucer of milk for the kitten - who started lapping it up as if it was starving to death (and for all Peter knew, he was) - and a coffee for Peter.
“You know, offloading a cat wasn’t the purpose for my visit,” Peter said, laying his coat down on a nearby chair. “I’m looking for Neal - he missed our breakfast meeting.”
June furrowed her brow. “I - I don’t think he is at home. At least, I haven’t heard him puttering around up there, and you know Neal.”
“He’s a putterer. Do you mind if I check?”
“Of course.”
She led him up to Neal’s apartment and unlocked the door. The apartment was cold, with no sign of its inhabitant, nor that he’d slept in his bed. “I’ll ask the housekeeper if he came home, shall I?” June asked, clearly concerned.
Peter remained behind, standing respectfully beside the table and trying not to snoop around too much. There was a pile of unopened mail on it, as well as a small package from Amazon - also unopened.
Mew! Mew! Mew!
Peter looked over to the door to see that the kitten had followed them up. He went to scoop him up. “Buddy, did you climb all the way up three flights of stairs?” He shook his finger at the kitten, but it swiped at it with its tiny paw. “You’re as bad as your Uncle Neal,” Peter said with a smile, then added with a whisper, “and almost as cute.” He tucked the kitten against his chest. It began to purr very loudly - a lot of sound for such a tiny thing, Peter thought.
A few minutes later, June returned. “Oh dear, I’m afraid Neal didn’t come home at all last night,” she said worriedly. “Mrs. Grant said his bed hadn’t been slept in, and his mail isn’t opened either.”
“I noticed,” Peter said, looking at the letters.
Mew!
“Shh, I’m worried about your uncle Neal,” Peter said, idly snuggling the kitten against his face; it laid a tiny paw on his jaw.
“What do you suppose this means, Peter?” June asked.
“I wish I knew, June. I wish I knew.”
----
Peter looked across his desk at Jones; he had his fingers steepled in front of his face, squinting at his subordinate as he spoke. “I want you to tell me everything that happened last night - leave no detail out.”
“Peter, what is a kitten doing on your desk?”
Peter’s eyes flicked over to the tiny ball of fur, curled up inside his scarf on the corner of his desk. “Sleeping. Now, what happened last night?”
Jones looked confused, but then began to speak. “Neal had his meeting with Williams. They negotiated terms, and Neal got him to admit he had the sword - or at least he thought he had the genuine article - but Neal couldn’t get him to give up where he was storing it. Williams wouldn’t talk timing, either, though he implied that the deal would go down soon.”
“Then Neal came back?”
Jones nodded. “We were parked two blocks over, and he approached from the rear, like always. He seemed to think the guy meant business, that he had the goods. I had no reason to discount that.”
“Then he gave you the watch?”
“Yeah - and that’s when I offered to drop him home. It was late - after 1:00. I wasn’t going to leave him to hoof it.”
Peter smiled appreciatively - Jones was always thoughtful like that - but what the hell had happened after he’d dropped Neal off?
“Where did you drop him exactly?”
“Up on 109th. 107th was closed because ConEd was digging it all up last night for something.”
Peter recalled the detour from that morning. “So he had to walk down Riverside?”
“I offered to go around the block, but he said he wanted some fresh air. I didn’t think anything of it.”
“What time was it?”
“Maybe 1:30 by that time?”
“I want you to pull surveillance footage for a five block radius - let’s see where he went.”
Jones stood. “Got it, Boss.”
“And Jonesy, keep this under your hat for now, huh?”
Jones cocked his head to the side in an unspoken question: why?
“In case this is nothing, I don’t want to make a big deal, you know?” Peter explained. Jones nodded and left, leaving Peter alone in his office with a bad feeling in his gut.
It wasn’t nothing.
----
It took a surprisingly short time for the surveillance footage to come in from the transit authority, and soon Peter found himself in the conference room watching it with Jones.
“There… is that him?” Jones pointed at the fuzzy image on the traffic cam.
“That’s his walk,” Peter replied.
The man on the footage - Neal, there was no denying it - walked quickly down Riverside, likely because of the late-December chill. He walked out of frame, but the next camera picked him up as he crossed 108th Street, headed south. The next camera had a clearer image of June’s mansion from across the street in the park, but it was a longer shot. It showed Neal nearing the front steps when a large SUV pulled up and someone got out. He spoke with Neal, who backed away with raised hands.
Peter’s heart was in his throat - there was only one reason for Neal to affect that kind of body language - the man had a weapon of some sort pointed at him. Peter lowered his head after Neal got into the SUV, blood rushing in his ears. Neal. Neal!
“We’ll enhance the vid - track the vehicle. We’ll find him, boss,” Jones assured him and rushed from the room to make the call that would get the process started.
Despite the urgency of the situation - and the fact it was now close to twelve hours since Neal's apparent abduction - Peter felt almost paralyzed by worry and fear. He drew in a breath, tried to clear his head, but it didn’t work. He drew in another breath.
A light pressure at his hip got his attention. Looking down, he found the kitten had climbed up onto the chair beside him and was sitting just behind him, blinking up at him. “Hey, buddy - what… how’d you get there?” Peter leaned forward, reached behind to lift the kitten up, and held him cradled against his chest again.
The kitten started purring immediately and began pawing at Peter’s tie, tiny, sharp claws snagging the cheap silk.
“Hey, that’s my favorite tie,” Peter admonished, gently disengaging the thing’s paws, but it was relentless and went for it again. “Aw, I give up - Neal hates this tie anyway.” Peter eased his index finger under the kitten’s chin and began to rub, distracting him from his tie-destruction, and making the kitten purr even louder. When he looked up at him, Peter was struck by just how blue the cat’s eyes were. They reminded him of something...
“Boss, we got an image of the tags on the SUV,” Jones said.
Peter felt a hopeful surge and turned in his seat to look at Jones. “Yeah?”
“The vehicle’s stolen, but it pinged the system when it passed through an EZ Pass toll in the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel at about 2:00 AM. Cameras picked up an image of the driver - it’s Williams.”
Somehow, their suspect must have “made” Neal and followed him home - there was no other explanation. “Anything else?”
“Traffic cameras show the SUV wound up by the river in Brooklyn. As far as we know, they’re still there.”
----
“Is there a reason you brought the cat along?” Jones asked, glancing at the back seat of the BMW.
“What?” Peter asked, distracted. “Oh. Um, Janine’s allergic or something.” Janine was Peter’s assistant.
“He all right back there?”
Peter shrugged and glanced into the rearview. “You won’t scratch up the hand-tooled leather, right buddy?”
Mew?
“That didn’t sound like a promise to me,” Jones pointed out, but Peter ignored him. Traffic was heavier than it ought to have been, and he was contemplating putting on the lights and siren. Neal had now been missing nearly fourteen hours, with no word, and Peter could think of nothing else.
When they finally arrived at the site in Brooklyn, they found themselves, coincidentally, not far from the site where Adler had stowed the U-boat long ago, and Peter felt his heart sink - there were dozens of buildings out here, and they had brought no backup for the search. Jones soon found the SUV - a check of the tags confirmed it - but there was no visible sign on the inside or outside of it that gave up a clue about Neal.
Peter cursed under his breath, looking at all the warehouses before them. “Which one, which one?” he said, a note of desperation in his voice.
There was a squirming in his coat that made him jump. Reaching down, his hand encountered a warm, furry bundle when he put his hand in his pocket. “What the -“ he said as he pulled out the kitten. “How did you get in there?”
But the kitten was squirming so rigorously, Peter feared he’d fall, so he set him on the ground - and the animal took off like a shot.
“Hey! Hey!” Peter said before setting off after him. He felt a pang of worry - this could not be a safe place for a kitten to get lost. Peter followed as the kitten disappeared around the corner of one of the warehouses, Jones reluctantly bringing up the rear. When Peter got to the corner, he saw the kitten standing, looking at him, about twenty yards away. “Hey!” he called out, but the kitten turned and ran, taking a left at his next opportunity.
“It’s almost like he wants us to follow him,” Jones observed.
“Or he just smells tuna,” Peter groused, but there was the little guy, sitting in front of an entry door of the next building, licking a paw and using it to groom his ears. “What the hell do you think you're doing?” Peter said to him as he got closer, hands on his hips and immediately feeling like a jackass.
Mew! Mew! Mew! the kitten said and trotted over to the door.
Approaching the door cautiously, Peter peered through the window in the door to see that inside were three men who were wrapping up what appeared to be Japanese arms and antiquities, placing them into wooden crates that were to be loaded, presumably, into the panel truck parked nearby. “I can’t believe it,” Peter breathed as he pulled back, and Jones had a look for himself.
Jones whistled, low, and unholstered his sidearm. “Take ‘em down, or wait for backup?” he asked.
“If Neal’s in there, I don’t know what waiting buys us. There are only three of them.”
“Works for me.”
Peter bent over and picked up the kitten, held him before his face. “I don’t know how you knew what was going on here, but thanks, buddy,” he said and then shoved the animal back into his pocket with a hurried command to, “Stay.”
Jones raised an eyebrow.
“What? He’s El’s Christmas present. Wouldn’t want to lose him.”
“Sure, sure,” Jones said, as Peter pulled his own gun out of his shoulder holster and gave a count of three.
“FBI! NOBODY MOVE!” Peter bellowed as they stormed inside.
Caught off-guard, two of the men opted to give up and stood with their hands on their heads, legs spread. One of them - who was about the size of the man who’d abducted Neal - made a run for it. Peter took off after him, chasing him through the nearly-empty space and out into the sidewalk, where he promptly and literally ran into a passing forklift and fell to the ground, stunned.
Peter ran up to him and cuffed him, then hauled him to his feet, reading him his rights as he did.
They returned to the warehouse, where Jones had already cuffed the other two, who were sitting on the floor looking annoyed. Peter shoved his own man to sit beside them. “Any sign of Neal? Or Williams?” he asked Jones - none of these three was their suspect.
“None,” Jones said, “But I haven’t done a full sweep.”
Peter looked around - the place seemed to be empty - and took a knee in front of the one he’d caught himself. “Where’s Williams?” The guy pressed his lips into a thin line, refusing to speak. “Things’ll go a lot easier for you if you give him up,” he advised, but the guy wasn’t talking.
Meeeewww! The kitten in Peter’s pocket cried, then struggled to leap out of it again. Peter laid a hand on him and he calmed.
“What about Tabernacle - the fence?” Peter said, leaning closer to the guy. From here, he could see beads of sweat forming on his upper lip. “We know you took him last night - where is he?”
Mew! Mew-mew-mew! The kitten crawled out of Peter’s pocket and hit the floor, scampering off towards the van that had been pulled into the warehouse. “Ah Jeez!” Peter complained as the kitten stopped next to the vehicle’s wheel and looked back at him, mewing urgently. Peter stood and followed, and as per usual, the cat scampered away as soon as he got close to him, heading out of the garage-type door the truck had been brought through and outside.
“You’re making me regret considering adopting you,” Peter told him as he emerged into the daylight. The kitten turned and headed over to the edge of the pier.
Mew-mew-mew-mew-mew! The kitten didn’t stop its excited crying even when Peter got closer, and when he did he saw that the cat was pawing at a dark object on the ground.
“What the -“ As he got closer, Peter’s heart fell - it was a dark grey fedora, just like the one Neal had been wearing the night before. “Come here,” Peter said as he got down on one knee and lifted the kitten up; when he did, he saw that half the cream-colored silk lining of the hat was stained red with blood, and there was a puddle of it on the ground.
“Oh no,” Peter whispered, “No, no, no.” He stood, heart thudding in his chest as a shot of adrenaline hit his system. He saw a trail of blood drips leading away from the hat, towards the river. Reluctantly, he approached the edge of the pier and looked over. There was nothing there but a pair of seagulls floating on the water - he wasn’t sure what he expected to find there. Actually, he was sure of what he didn’t want to find there, but it didn’t help. Peter headed back inside the warehouse, the kitten held protectively against his side.
“Jones, give me a minute, will you?”
Jones, who’d been on the phone calling for backup to come and take their suspects away, looked up, blanching at the look on Peter’s face. “Sure thing, Boss.”
“And get ERT down here asap, yeah?”
“Sure.”
Jones made himself scarce as Peter put the kitten down on the floor. He strode over to the man he’d cuffed earlier, grabbed him by his lapels and hauled him to his feet.
“Where is he? What did you do to him? Where is he?” Peter practically shouted in his face.
“I ain’t giving up Williams!” the guy replied.
“That’s not who I’m talking about and you know it!” Peter screamed, spittle flying from his lips to land on the man’s pale face. “Tabernacle - what happened to him? Tell me!”
“Nothing, I swear!”
“Come on, give it up, Barry,” one of the others said to him. “Or you know they’ll try to pin it on you.”
“Pin what? I didn’t kill him.”
Peter felt his arms go numb and he dropped the man to the floor. “What did you say?”
“I didn’t kill nobody. Williams did!” the man named Barry said.
Peter took a step backwards.
“That guy, Tabernacle - Williams said he was a plant, that he was with the Feds, so we picked him up, to see what he knew.”
Peter’s calm expression belied the turmoil going on inside him - he couldn’t speak; when Barry didn’t go on, he grabbed another fistful of his shirt and shook.
“He wouldn’t give up nothing, so Williams got mad and he -“ Barry shut his mouth.
“He what?” Peter asked, but Barry wouldn’t reply. Peter tightened his grip. “He. What?”
“He shot him.”
Peter closed his eyes and let him go again. “Where - where is the, uh.” He took a deep breath. “Where is the body?”
“In the river.”
Peter nodded and walked away. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, his back ramrod straight.
“Boss? Peter?”
Peter looked at Jones, who stood beside him, a worried expression on his face. How long had he been standing here, shaking? “Yes. Jones.”
“ERT is on the way, and Detective Oshiro is here.”
“Good,” Peter said. “Um, what?”
Jones repeated his statement, and when Peter glanced up, he saw Oshiro standing slightly behind Jones. “Detective,” he said. “The art is here - in those crates. You should perhaps inventory it to see what’s been recovered.”
“Something is wrong?” she asked.
Peter didn’t react, but picking up on his mood, she gave him his space and moved off to inspect the crates.
“Jones. Tell ERT to process this as a murder scene,” Peter said with a kind of calm that was devastating. “And to bring divers.”
“Neal?” Jones asked, shocked.
Peter only shook his head.
----
“It’s not here. The Kusanagi is not here,” Peter overheard Oshiro saying in a loud, accusing tone at the man Barry. She had stalked over to him after a search of the crates and the truck.
Barry looked up at her sullenly; Oshiro, moving almost too fast to track, was on him in a second, her hand at his throat. “You will tell me where it is!” she said in a low voice.
“What - I don’t have it, it’s not here! Williams took it with him!”
“Where? Where is he?” she demanded, her hand squeezing until Barry began to choke.
“Detective!” Jones said to her, but she ignored him.
When Barry began to gag, she loosened her grip, and he coughed.
Mew! Mew-mew-mew!
Peter looked over; the kitten, who he’d almost forgotten about, was pawing at a piece of paper lying on the ground. Jones picked it up - it appeared to be a printout from a laser printer. “Driving directions to Farmingdale,” Jones said.
“What is Farmingdale?” Oshiro demanded, looming over Barry again.
“Stay away from me, you crazy bitch!”
“Call me another name,” she said darkly. “I dare you.”
“What’s in Farmingdale?” Jones asked.
“Airport. Williams was going to rent a plane - he’s got a pilot’s license. Said we were to pack up and meet him there. We were supposed to try to find another buyer somewhere else.”
“He took the sword to Farmingdale?” Oshiro asked.
Barry shrugged. “He had something with him. Coulda been a sword.”
Peter turned away, no longer interested in the conversation; he was aware of movement behind him, and voices, but he couldn’t care what they said. He stood in the doorway facing the river and stared at the spot where he’d found the blood stains at the edge of the pier. His eyes felt hot, his entire body did; there was something building inside of him, something he knew would be ugly if he let it out, and he knew he couldn't, not yet.
A tug at his shoelace drew his attention.
Mew?
Peter bent over and picked up the kitten, turned it upside down and cradled it against his chest, rubbing its small chest gently. It began to purr and hug his hand with its tiny front paws.
“Peter?”
“Hmm?”
“Blake is here, with ERT - they’re ready to start processing the scene. You wanna - you want me to direct the operation? Or take you home?”
Peter swallowed. “No. No, I want you to take me to Farmingdale, Jones. We’ve got some unfinished business there.”
----
The drive to the tiny, local airport was interminable and yet Peter remembered none of it. He sat in the passenger seat of his own car with the kitten curled up on his lap and stared out the window, seeing nothing.
Jones parked in front of the only terminal visible. “Stay here, I’ll be right out,” he said without waiting for an answer.
The kitten stood on Peter’s lap, yawning and watching Jones’ movements.
Jones was back within moments. “Guy matching Williams’ description rented a plane and filed a flight plan to Miami. Hasn’t taken off yet - plane’s in a hangar at the other end of the airport.”
The drive over took moments; when they arrived, Jones put the car in park and took a deep breath before speaking. “Peter, I never thought I’d be the one saying this, but here goes. Inside that building is the man who took one of our own. We are Federal agents first, Neal’s friends second. Do you understand?”
Peter’s head swiveled to the left and he blinked. This was not happening , he thought to himself, but he nodded at Jones. The kitten laid a paw on his hand, as if reminding Peter he was there. Peter picked him up. “You’re staying here.”
Mew! Mew! Mew!
“No arguments,” Peter said, setting the kitten on the floor behind his seat and getting out of the car. The sun was beginning to set. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and Neal would not be spending it with him and Elizabeth as they’d planned. He wanted to cry, he wanted to rage. He needed to hit something.
He would do that all later.
The blood-curdling scream from inside the hangar put those thoughts from his head; it was followed by a rough, animalistic yowl that Peter had never heard before in his life.
“The hell?” Jones said, hands up reflexively in a fighting stance.
Peter pulled his gun out of his shoulder holster as Jones did the same. The hangar’s doors were open, and they moved cautiously over. Peter held up a hand and peeked inside briefly. At first he didn’t see anything, but as his eyes adjusted to the low light inside he saw a man on the ground, struggling, and on top of him - Peter blinked and shook his head - on top of him was what appeared to be a person-sized house cat.
Peter stepped out in the open, Jones behind him, and they stared at the strange display for a moment, incredulous. With this better view, Peter saw that the “cat” appeared to be half human - with a human’s legs and torso, but a cat’s head, front legs, and claws. It had the man - Williams - pinned under its body, its fangs buried in his shoulder. Williams screamed, shocking Peter and Jones out of their reverie.
“Federal agents!” Peter shouted, charging into the hangar with his gun in front of him. “Everyone freeze!”
The cat turned its head and hissed, ears laid back on its head.
“Whoa,” Jones said, stopping short.
Peter took a step forward, and then another. “Step away from him,” he ordered. The cat-like creature growled and spat. Peter took another step closer, and fired over the thing’s head. “Don’t make me shoot you. I know you can understand me. Step away.”
With a growl, the creature let Williams go. Peter took another step forward as it stood up, ears still pinned back and regarding him warily. Jones cursed as the creature before them slowly morphed into a human again - Detective Oshiro. Her eyes, disturbingly, remained like a cat’s, large and green, the pupils slit-like. Her hair, which she typically kept tied in a neat ponytail, flowed over her shoulders and her mouth and throat were stained with Williams’ blood. “He has the sword!” she said, and spat some insult in Japanese that Peter did not understand.
“We don’t know that,” Peter pointed out.
“I do. I know it is here. I feel it.”
“You’re its protector?” Peter guessed.
“For centuries my family have been guardians of the Kusanagi, watched over it. Through war and pestilence we kept it safe, until it was stolen by men such as this,” she paused to kick Williams and Peter wasn’t exactly too worried about making her stop. “For years my mother sought after it, but it eluded her. Then it fell to me to find it, and now it is here, I feel it. I must take it back.”
“It’s evidence.”
“It is sacred.”
She blinked her eyes and they became human once more, and Peter saw how important this thing was to her. He wavered. “Fine, take it. We’ve got enough evidence on this asshole.” What did he care if one more item made it into the inventory or not? Neal was dead, and it made giving a shit about any of this extremely hard.
He stood down and slid the safety home on his gun. He was suddenly so tired. “Jones, you got this?” He didn’t wait for a response, he just walked out of there.
----
Peter sat half inside, half outside the backseat of the BMW, his feet on the ground, rubbing his hands together and trying not to think. Behind him, swarms of FBI processed the crime scene and an ambulance was parked with lights flashing as EMTs saw to Williams’ injuries. He ignored it all.
A tiny, insistent head poked itself between his elbow and his side, and he almost laughed as he moved aside and picked up the kitten. “It’s been a long day, huh? You’re probably hungry,” Peter said to him, closing his eyes. He sighed,“It’s been a bad day. A very bad day.”
The kitten began to purr loudly and Peter lifted him up, burying his nose in his soft fur. “You want to know a secret?” he whispered. “I lost someone very important to me today, someone I love.” His voice caught in his throat. “Now he’ll never know it.”
Mew! Mew! Mew! The kitten began to squirm in his arms as someone approached. Peter glanced up to see Detective Oshiro standing in front of him, looking as flawless as usual, all trace of her cat-like appearance gone.
“What exactly are you, anyway?” Peter asked. Not that it’d make its way into his report - if it did, he’d be up for a psych evaluation faster than he could say meow - he was just curious.
“I am bakeneko, a changing spirit. My family have been guardians of Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi for centuries. Its loss was… a great failure. You cannot know the service you have performed here, Burke-san, or the depth of our gratitude. You have helped restore our honor.” She bowed.
“You’ll forgive me if I’m not feeling all that happy about it, Oshiro-san - that sword cost me a lot today.” He looked away as the tears flooded his eyes, unwanted. “Too much.”
“Caffrey-san, yes. His contribution today has also been great, and his name will be afforded much respect by the people of Japan.” Oshiro cocked her head to the side. “But you have not lost him, he is always with you.”
“It’s a little soon for platitudes, Oshiro-san.”
She only smiled, reached out with her right hand toward him. Taken aback, Peter moved away, but she was not reaching out for him. She placed her hand on the kitten’s head and its purring intensified. “Thank you, little one. You are released,” she said, then turned and left.
Peter looked down at the kitten, who began to squirm in his lap. Taking his hands off it, he let it jump to the ground, where it began to shudder alarmingly.
“Buddy?” Peter said, standing, alarmed for the poor thing.
Mew! Mew! Mew! The kitten began to cry, falling over on its side, shaking and writhing. Peter fell to his knees, hands out to help, to soothe, but suddenly there was a flash of light so bright he had to look away, had to close his eyes. When it receded and he looked back, blinking, the kitten was gone and in its place -
In its place was a naked and shivering Neal Caffrey, looking very, very annoyed.
“Ow.”
“Neal?”
Neal pushed himself to a sitting position. “Yes.”
“Neal!” Peter cried and pulled him roughly into his arms.
“Peter, what the hell?”
“Shut up, will you?” Peter said, before kissing him, surprising them both
----
“Got any, like, socks?”
Neal sat in the back seat of the BMW with Peter’s coat around him, the heat on full blast, but still shivering.
“I do actually.” Peter got out and grabbed his gym bag from the trunk. “They’re kinda dirty though,” Peter said, rooting around in his bag. “Here’s some sweatpants too.” He handed the clothes over and Neal donned them gratefully.
They stared at each other for a moment, words failing.
“So I thought you were dead all day,” Peter said while, at the same time Neal said, “She turned me into a cat?”
“What?” they both said to each other.
“You go first,” Neal said.
“I, um, you were dead. I mean, Williams’ accomplice said he’d shot you. I - I thought you were dead.”
Neal smiled wryly. “Is that why… I mean… the kiss?”
Peter couldn’t look at him.
“I thought I was dead, too, if that helps,” Neal said carefully. “Williams did shoot me, and he threw me in the river, I remember… it was so cold, Peter. I couldn't move, I couldn’t stay afloat. I was dying, and someone - something pulled me out. And then I - it’s all kind of confusing after that.”
“It was detective Oshiro,” Peter explained, wincing at the sheer craziness of it all. “She - changed you. I guess to save you? I’m not sure -she’s kind of disappeared. All I know is you showed up - I mean, this kitten that looked like you showed up - and… No, it’s too crazy to explain to you, and you’re the one it happened to.”
“Try.”
“Later - we should get you to the hospital, anyway, to get checked out.” There was a very ugly scar on Neal's chest - probably from the bullet wound - and Peter wanted to be sure there was no lasting damage.
Neal, brows furrowed, nodded his head in agreement. They sat in silence for a few minutes, then Neal said, “You know, my memory’s still fuzzy, but I remember a few things about the last day or so.”
“Oh?” Peter wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear this.
“I remember you, and looking for you, and being happy when I finally found you. And I remember warmth. And feeling safe.”
Peter smiled, pleased.
“And I remember you saying you loved me.”
The smile left Peter’s face. “Yeah. About that -“
“You didn’t mean it?”
“I did. I just didn’t mean for you to find out like this. Or, you know, ever.”
“It’s OK. I mean, I don’t mind.”
“No?”
“Especially if you wanted to kiss me again.”
“Yeah, that’d be nice." Peter smiled. "Except now I don’t have a Christmas present for El. Kitten-you was it.”
Neal looked down at his hands.
“She probably wouldn’t mind you-you, though, if I wrapped you up in a nice ribbon.”
Neal smiled. “Kinky. I like.”
Peter smiled back. It was going to be a great Christmas.
----
Thank you for your time.
Here is kitten!Neal:
Additional Notes:
• I am certain I’ve gotten Detective Oshiro’s title and agency wrong - the interwebs were not very cooperative when I tried to find out the hierarchy of Japan’s Criminal Investigation Bureau, and the detail of her rank is so minor in the story that after ten minutes’ research I got frustrated and gave up. If anyone has better information, please PM me and I will correct it.
• Here is an interesting article on bakeneko - which can be good as well as evil. Clearly, this one is good. And also a badass. I took great liberties by merging the legend of the changing cats with the sword - artistic license? I needed a “believable” way for Neal to be changed, OK? More kittens who auditioned for the part of Neal: