Fic: Cattus quod Muris, PG-13
Title: Cattus quod Muris
Author: eriksselest
Rating: PG-13
Fandoms: Heroes and White Collar
Characters: Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke, Alex Hunter, Clinton Jones, and Sylar
Spoilers: None specifically . . . knowledge through the end of Season 1 of White Collar and all of Heroes.
Word Count: 1,992
Prompt: Special Challenge #1 - Crossover Event for heroes_contest
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, Heroes, or White Collar. I just like to imagine scenarios for the characters to play in. =)
Author's Note: Hope everyone enjoys this! I love both the the main characters I used in this to death and I hope it shows in my writing.
Hickory Dickory Dock,
The cat ran around the clock,
The clock struck seven,
She wanted to get 'em,
Hickory Dickory Dock!
“Sylar? But he's a serial killer? What does he have to do with the white collar division?” Neal all but interrogated Agent Peter Burke. Peter looked from the case file held in his hand to Neal with a gravity about him.
“We got a hand-delivered letter today from Sylar implicating that he had in interest in one of our own. No one saw him actually drop off the letter; however, but we have it being checked over for prints.” Peter pursed his lips and looked hard at Neal.
Neal mulled over what Peter had just said as they both made their way into Peter's office to look at the file together. It was lengthy describing every crime scene in detail - showing every scull sawed off and a gruesome amount of blood splattered everywhere. One had been frozen, others pinned to the walls with household objects. Neal grimaced as he looked over the picture of the corpse of one Ted Sprague.
“Who could do something this . . . creative?” he said with his brow furrowed. “Did he give a reason in his letter why he was interested in one of the Bureau?”
“No, but he likened it to a game.” Peter paused looking around his moderate office for some way to ask the question that was forming in his mind. “Did you ever hear of this Sylar when you . . . did whatever it was you did in the underground?” Neal looked at Peter with wide eyes.
“Peter, how could you implicate something like that? You know I hated violence. Killers typically have no creativity. No, it was people like this that were the most dangerous. They planned their every move in detail - they were the creative ones,” Neal explained vehemently. It was then that a thought struck him that made his stomach fall into the floor. “Peter . . . the person he's after . . . . is it me?”
Peter walked over the the door and shut it, he didn't want anyone to overhear what was to be said. “Neal, I'm going to be straight with you. Your name never appeared in the context of the letter, but you were heavily implied. We're looking into this as a precaution because you are an invaluable asset to the Bureau.” Peter sat on the edge of his desk. “We don't want anything happening to you, so in addition to your tracking anklet, we're going to have a team watching over you 24-7,” Peter raised his hand before Neal began to protest. “You will not loose these Agents, you hear me, Neal?”
Neal nodded looking down weighing his words and then a wide grin spread on his face, “But, Peter, I have a date tonight. What am I supposed to do with agents tailing my every move?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was a mildly fancy restaurant - at least, as fancy as Neal could get while tethered to a two mile radius and with Agents Mauris and Klugh following his every move. Alex looked stunning in her bronze mid-thigh length cocktail dress.
“You look stunning,” Neal whispered to her as he gave a polite smile.
“And you're not too bad yourself, Caffrey . . . if it wasn't for that silly anklet you refuse to ditch and Tweedledee and Tweedledum,” Alex pursed her lips and looked over the menu. Waiters bustled by carrying tray after tray to a large party in the corner. A tense air filled the surroundings.
“We've been over this before, Alex . . . there is nothing I can do about it unl--” Neal was cut off as a dark-haired man with dark eyes and black, thick-rimmed glasses approached their table.
“Hello. I am Steve and I will be your waiter for tonight. Our specials are a beef bolognese and the talapia. Our soup of the day is cream of potato. What can I get you to drink?” He gave a pointed stare to Neal and looked over Alex in a way that made the hair on the back of Neal's neck prickle.
“I'll have a scotch on the rocks and the twelve ounce steak cooked medium rare,” Neal said looking at the waiter deeply. Something was off, but he couldn't place it.
“I'll have the talapia and a glass of chardonnay,” Alex snapped the menu shut and returned her gaze to Neal, “So, how is life as a lap-dog for the the feds?” Neal rebuffed her as he always did because in all honesty, he loved working with Peter, the only people he could truly trust, at the bureau.
The waiter returned with a a pitcher of ice water ready to pour it into each of the glasses. Just as the man was about to pour the second of the two another waiter sped past him to help put out a fire that had developed in the kitchen. In a scene that almost seemed slow-motion, the water tumbled out of the man's hands and down the table and on Alex's lap, among other places.
The waiter blushed beat-red and he grabbed a napkin from his apron and began to blot at Alex's dress and the table, “I-I'm s-so sorry . . . .” The two Agents started before Neal gave them the signal to stand down.
“I think I can handle this,” Neal said brusquely to Steve and then turned his attention to Alex. “Are you okay?” Steve backed away meekly and left to head towards the kitchen.
“I'll be fine. You know, it's a good thing I wasn't wearing silk,” Alex said sharply as Neal took his seat again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next morning Neal strolled into the bright office, coffee in hand, ready for the day's work. From his desk on the floor he could see Peter in his office, having a deep conversation with Agent Jones. After a few moments Peter caught sight of Neal and waved him over.
“Hey, what's up? Any news on Sylar?” Neal asked as he handed over the coffee to both Peter and Jones.
“In fact we do have news. We were able to lift full prints from the letter and we found that they belong to one Gabriel Gray. He was a watchmaker from Queens and wanted for the murder of his mother a little over a year ago . . . close to two. According the report, he was last held at Baltimore PD, but he escaped.”
“One thing that is puzzling is why he left his full prints on the letter. Usually people try to leave as few prints as possible when they commit crimes,” Jones mused half to himself.
“It's part of his game,” both Neal and Peter responded in kind. They both looked at each other and then Neal found his own mystery forming about Sylar.
“How could a watchmaker from Queens do all of these things?” Sad eyes reflected in Peter's.
“I don't know, Neal,” Peter placed his hand on his shoulder. He wouldn't let this madman touch a hair on his head.
“May I see Gabriel's case-file?” Neal asked quietly as he took a quick sip of his cooled coffee. Peter nodded and handed it over. Neal paged through it with interest looking over receipts taken from Gray & Sons and photographs. One of the shots showed a painting with blood of a mushroom cloud. “Oh that is just sick . . .” Finally he landed on a photograph of Gabriel Gray and his heartbeat sped up with realization and shock. “Peter! I know this man!”
“How? Did you buy a watch from him once? Was he secretly in the underground?” Peter looked at Neal expectantly and unbelieving.
“No. This guy, this Gabriel . . . he was my waiter last night on my date. He called himself Steve.” Neal said with a gravity as he held the photograph up slightly shaking it.
“This is not good . . .” Peter, Jones, and Neal stood there speechless.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Neal returned home after the revelations at work. He had been right there. He had touched Alex and then fled to God-knows-where, playing his game and probably laughing about it with no one around to hear. For a moment, something seemed off until he realized that he was not alone in his apartment. Sitting by the open glass doors was Alex, in the same bronzen dress that she had been wearing the night before. She smiled curtly as Neal regarded her and dropped his coat and fedora onto the hat rack.
“What are you doing here?” he asked as she rose from her seat and made her way over to Neal, placing her arms over his shoulders.
“I just wanted to thank you for the amazing night I had yesterday.”
“Oh, yeah?” Neal smiled as he moved in for a kiss. Their lips nearly touched until Alex moved her head quickly to the side and walked toward the kitchen counters.
“I put on coffee,” she said simply as Neal was recovering from her fake-out. “Also . . . this was here. It has your name on it . . .” She picked up a small envelope and handed it to Neal as she made her way out to the terrace with their coffee. He opened it to find a scrawl that seemed either at a loss for capitalization or the entire thing was screaming at him. He read it with sharp realization.
look behind you.
~s
Swiftly he turned and saw that Alex was gone and replaced by a man wearing all black. It was the same man as before. It was Sylar. He didn't look like either “Steve” or Gabriel for he had no glasses and his hair was distinctly styled. This was one of the few times that Neal felt a distinct dread wash over him.
“Surprised to see me?” Sylar smirked as both held their ground.
“What do you want with me, Sylar?” Neal moved slowly towards him with caution, but apparently it wasn't fast enough for by some unseen force Sylar pulled Neal and plopped him into the chair opposite him on the terrace.
“It's simple,” Sylar said with a slight smile leaning into the table and clasping his hands together, “You fascinate me.”
“Why? Why would a known serial killer be interested in someone like me?” Neal could have ran, but he did not want Sylar to have the run of his house any more than he may have in the time he was masquerading as Alex. No, Neal wanted to know how Sylar worked.
Sylar smiled again and took a sip of the coffee, humming in pleasure. “Now that is good - Italian Roast?”
Neal rose from his seat with a start. “Are you serious? You send letters to the FBI practically saying you'll be stalking me, you feel up my date in public, and then you break into my home and impersonate her just to get close to me. All I want to know is 'Why?'” Sylar looked at him from underneath his eyebrows. Something had definitely changed. The next thing Neal knew he was dangling in thin air over the edge of the terrace. “H-How?”
Sylar smirked and kept his cool, “There are things in this world that you do not realize, Neal. I am here to open your eyes. I'm sure eventually the people you chase will be just like me.” Sylar brought him in close so that they were eye to eye. “I'm here to enlighten you that people with powers are real and it will take all you have to figure them out. Motives are usually the same, but approaches will be vastly different. You don't want your dear Peter to get hurt in the crossfire, do you?” Sylar reeled Neal back in and held him against the terrace wall. “Consider this a learning experience, Caffrey,” Sylar purred into Neal's ear. He dropped him and gave a simple wave as he walked out the front door. Neal stood there shaken, but intrigued at this new alliance.
Author: eriksselest
Rating: PG-13
Fandoms: Heroes and White Collar
Characters: Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke, Alex Hunter, Clinton Jones, and Sylar
Spoilers: None specifically . . . knowledge through the end of Season 1 of White Collar and all of Heroes.
Word Count: 1,992
Prompt: Special Challenge #1 - Crossover Event for heroes_contest
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, Heroes, or White Collar. I just like to imagine scenarios for the characters to play in. =)
Author's Note: Hope everyone enjoys this! I love both the the main characters I used in this to death and I hope it shows in my writing.
Hickory Dickory Dock,
The cat ran around the clock,
The clock struck seven,
She wanted to get 'em,
Hickory Dickory Dock!
“Sylar? But he's a serial killer? What does he have to do with the white collar division?” Neal all but interrogated Agent Peter Burke. Peter looked from the case file held in his hand to Neal with a gravity about him.
“We got a hand-delivered letter today from Sylar implicating that he had in interest in one of our own. No one saw him actually drop off the letter; however, but we have it being checked over for prints.” Peter pursed his lips and looked hard at Neal.
Neal mulled over what Peter had just said as they both made their way into Peter's office to look at the file together. It was lengthy describing every crime scene in detail - showing every scull sawed off and a gruesome amount of blood splattered everywhere. One had been frozen, others pinned to the walls with household objects. Neal grimaced as he looked over the picture of the corpse of one Ted Sprague.
“Who could do something this . . . creative?” he said with his brow furrowed. “Did he give a reason in his letter why he was interested in one of the Bureau?”
“No, but he likened it to a game.” Peter paused looking around his moderate office for some way to ask the question that was forming in his mind. “Did you ever hear of this Sylar when you . . . did whatever it was you did in the underground?” Neal looked at Peter with wide eyes.
“Peter, how could you implicate something like that? You know I hated violence. Killers typically have no creativity. No, it was people like this that were the most dangerous. They planned their every move in detail - they were the creative ones,” Neal explained vehemently. It was then that a thought struck him that made his stomach fall into the floor. “Peter . . . the person he's after . . . . is it me?”
Peter walked over the the door and shut it, he didn't want anyone to overhear what was to be said. “Neal, I'm going to be straight with you. Your name never appeared in the context of the letter, but you were heavily implied. We're looking into this as a precaution because you are an invaluable asset to the Bureau.” Peter sat on the edge of his desk. “We don't want anything happening to you, so in addition to your tracking anklet, we're going to have a team watching over you 24-7,” Peter raised his hand before Neal began to protest. “You will not loose these Agents, you hear me, Neal?”
Neal nodded looking down weighing his words and then a wide grin spread on his face, “But, Peter, I have a date tonight. What am I supposed to do with agents tailing my every move?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was a mildly fancy restaurant - at least, as fancy as Neal could get while tethered to a two mile radius and with Agents Mauris and Klugh following his every move. Alex looked stunning in her bronze mid-thigh length cocktail dress.
“You look stunning,” Neal whispered to her as he gave a polite smile.
“And you're not too bad yourself, Caffrey . . . if it wasn't for that silly anklet you refuse to ditch and Tweedledee and Tweedledum,” Alex pursed her lips and looked over the menu. Waiters bustled by carrying tray after tray to a large party in the corner. A tense air filled the surroundings.
“We've been over this before, Alex . . . there is nothing I can do about it unl--” Neal was cut off as a dark-haired man with dark eyes and black, thick-rimmed glasses approached their table.
“Hello. I am Steve and I will be your waiter for tonight. Our specials are a beef bolognese and the talapia. Our soup of the day is cream of potato. What can I get you to drink?” He gave a pointed stare to Neal and looked over Alex in a way that made the hair on the back of Neal's neck prickle.
“I'll have a scotch on the rocks and the twelve ounce steak cooked medium rare,” Neal said looking at the waiter deeply. Something was off, but he couldn't place it.
“I'll have the talapia and a glass of chardonnay,” Alex snapped the menu shut and returned her gaze to Neal, “So, how is life as a lap-dog for the the feds?” Neal rebuffed her as he always did because in all honesty, he loved working with Peter, the only people he could truly trust, at the bureau.
The waiter returned with a a pitcher of ice water ready to pour it into each of the glasses. Just as the man was about to pour the second of the two another waiter sped past him to help put out a fire that had developed in the kitchen. In a scene that almost seemed slow-motion, the water tumbled out of the man's hands and down the table and on Alex's lap, among other places.
The waiter blushed beat-red and he grabbed a napkin from his apron and began to blot at Alex's dress and the table, “I-I'm s-so sorry . . . .” The two Agents started before Neal gave them the signal to stand down.
“I think I can handle this,” Neal said brusquely to Steve and then turned his attention to Alex. “Are you okay?” Steve backed away meekly and left to head towards the kitchen.
“I'll be fine. You know, it's a good thing I wasn't wearing silk,” Alex said sharply as Neal took his seat again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next morning Neal strolled into the bright office, coffee in hand, ready for the day's work. From his desk on the floor he could see Peter in his office, having a deep conversation with Agent Jones. After a few moments Peter caught sight of Neal and waved him over.
“Hey, what's up? Any news on Sylar?” Neal asked as he handed over the coffee to both Peter and Jones.
“In fact we do have news. We were able to lift full prints from the letter and we found that they belong to one Gabriel Gray. He was a watchmaker from Queens and wanted for the murder of his mother a little over a year ago . . . close to two. According the report, he was last held at Baltimore PD, but he escaped.”
“One thing that is puzzling is why he left his full prints on the letter. Usually people try to leave as few prints as possible when they commit crimes,” Jones mused half to himself.
“It's part of his game,” both Neal and Peter responded in kind. They both looked at each other and then Neal found his own mystery forming about Sylar.
“How could a watchmaker from Queens do all of these things?” Sad eyes reflected in Peter's.
“I don't know, Neal,” Peter placed his hand on his shoulder. He wouldn't let this madman touch a hair on his head.
“May I see Gabriel's case-file?” Neal asked quietly as he took a quick sip of his cooled coffee. Peter nodded and handed it over. Neal paged through it with interest looking over receipts taken from Gray & Sons and photographs. One of the shots showed a painting with blood of a mushroom cloud. “Oh that is just sick . . .” Finally he landed on a photograph of Gabriel Gray and his heartbeat sped up with realization and shock. “Peter! I know this man!”
“How? Did you buy a watch from him once? Was he secretly in the underground?” Peter looked at Neal expectantly and unbelieving.
“No. This guy, this Gabriel . . . he was my waiter last night on my date. He called himself Steve.” Neal said with a gravity as he held the photograph up slightly shaking it.
“This is not good . . .” Peter, Jones, and Neal stood there speechless.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Neal returned home after the revelations at work. He had been right there. He had touched Alex and then fled to God-knows-where, playing his game and probably laughing about it with no one around to hear. For a moment, something seemed off until he realized that he was not alone in his apartment. Sitting by the open glass doors was Alex, in the same bronzen dress that she had been wearing the night before. She smiled curtly as Neal regarded her and dropped his coat and fedora onto the hat rack.
“What are you doing here?” he asked as she rose from her seat and made her way over to Neal, placing her arms over his shoulders.
“I just wanted to thank you for the amazing night I had yesterday.”
“Oh, yeah?” Neal smiled as he moved in for a kiss. Their lips nearly touched until Alex moved her head quickly to the side and walked toward the kitchen counters.
“I put on coffee,” she said simply as Neal was recovering from her fake-out. “Also . . . this was here. It has your name on it . . .” She picked up a small envelope and handed it to Neal as she made her way out to the terrace with their coffee. He opened it to find a scrawl that seemed either at a loss for capitalization or the entire thing was screaming at him. He read it with sharp realization.
look behind you.
~s
Swiftly he turned and saw that Alex was gone and replaced by a man wearing all black. It was the same man as before. It was Sylar. He didn't look like either “Steve” or Gabriel for he had no glasses and his hair was distinctly styled. This was one of the few times that Neal felt a distinct dread wash over him.
“Surprised to see me?” Sylar smirked as both held their ground.
“What do you want with me, Sylar?” Neal moved slowly towards him with caution, but apparently it wasn't fast enough for by some unseen force Sylar pulled Neal and plopped him into the chair opposite him on the terrace.
“It's simple,” Sylar said with a slight smile leaning into the table and clasping his hands together, “You fascinate me.”
“Why? Why would a known serial killer be interested in someone like me?” Neal could have ran, but he did not want Sylar to have the run of his house any more than he may have in the time he was masquerading as Alex. No, Neal wanted to know how Sylar worked.
Sylar smiled again and took a sip of the coffee, humming in pleasure. “Now that is good - Italian Roast?”
Neal rose from his seat with a start. “Are you serious? You send letters to the FBI practically saying you'll be stalking me, you feel up my date in public, and then you break into my home and impersonate her just to get close to me. All I want to know is 'Why?'” Sylar looked at him from underneath his eyebrows. Something had definitely changed. The next thing Neal knew he was dangling in thin air over the edge of the terrace. “H-How?”
Sylar smirked and kept his cool, “There are things in this world that you do not realize, Neal. I am here to open your eyes. I'm sure eventually the people you chase will be just like me.” Sylar brought him in close so that they were eye to eye. “I'm here to enlighten you that people with powers are real and it will take all you have to figure them out. Motives are usually the same, but approaches will be vastly different. You don't want your dear Peter to get hurt in the crossfire, do you?” Sylar reeled Neal back in and held him against the terrace wall. “Consider this a learning experience, Caffrey,” Sylar purred into Neal's ear. He dropped him and gave a simple wave as he walked out the front door. Neal stood there shaken, but intrigued at this new alliance.