Written: 26.08.25
Words: 460
White Collar
“Alright,” Peter was pushing his way into his CI’s apartment, anger near boiling at having to rush over in the middle of the investigation, “what’re you hiding?”
“Wha…?” Neal let out a nervous chuckle as he moved to let the FBI agent into the space, “I’m not hiding anything.”
“Right.” Peter wandered around the space, inspecting it with the scrutiny a person usually only had when they were cleaning. He spotted the easel out on the balcony with a half-finished painting and nodded toward it, “then what’s that?”
“A new painting.”
Neal’s calm tone made Peter all the more suspicious – it was always when he appeared to be doing nothing at all that Neal was being most unhinged behind-the-scenes. Peter rounded his suspicious gaze onto the man, “A new painting?”
“Yeah,” Neal closed the door and walked the few steps closer, “why?”
“You’re just…” Peter gestured vaguely to the space between them, “painting?”
“Yeah…” Neal’s brows furrowed slightly as he eased himself down onto the corner of his kitchen table, “it’s not exactly a secret.”
Peter felt his blood pressure spike at that and he pointed an accusatory finger out to the offending object, “It must be a pretty important painting for you to miss work for it.”
All pretense of being cool had dropped from the CI’s face now, leaving just pure confusion, “What are you talking about?”
“You blew off work!” Peter shook his finger again, “For this!”
“You told me not to come in today.”
“I-” Peter’s sentence died on his lips and he blinked in surprise, anger dissipating, “what? No, I didn’t.”
“Uh, yeah, you did,” Neal dug his cell phone out of his pants pocket, tapping on the screen a moment before turning it around so the agent could read it.
“Neal, don’t come in today. We’re interviewing the jewel thief and I’m worried you might be-” Peter shook his head, “I didn’t write that!”
“It’s from your number!”
Peter’s eyes flicked up to the number at the top of the message, eyebrows rising as he read it out – it was his number.
His supposedly secured, FBI-sanctioned number.
Damn it, Peter shook his head and snatched Caffrey’s phone out of his hand, before digging his own cell out of his pocket with his other, “Diana, we have a Code Green. Caffrey and I’ll meet you back at the office in twenty minutes.”
With that, the agent was shoving both phones into his pockets and heading toward the door.
“Whoa, Peter,” Neal hesitated but pushed himself off the table, anyway, “What’s going on?”
Peter half-turned back as he reached the doorway, motioning for the CI to follow him, “Nothing good.”
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