Chapter Text
This was going to be a huge operation, not something the White Collar team saw every day. There were at least four departments involved, including Organised Crime, to everyone’s dismay. Months of gathering intel and rigorous planning just to get to this final operation. Peter was determined to show the White Collar team at their best and most professional. No messing up on this one. That included, or rather mainly involved, keeping his criminal informant in check.
After working with Neal for nearly two years, they had developed a friendship and a level of trust that dampened Peter's worries. But still, Peter knew Neal, maybe better than anyone else in his opinion, and Neal tended to take matters into his own hands without thinking of the proper chain of command nor the procedure of things. Not to mention the general tendency Neal had of finding himself in bizarre situations, an occupational hazard of being a criminal for sure. In a large operation like this, Neal was bound to get distracted, and with so many carefully placed moving parts, he might just get away with it too.
Their four-person team were sprawled out over the interior of the White Collar surveillance van, where they had been waiting for hours already. They were parked about three blocks away from the warehouse where the operation was going down. The teams leading the operation were in the process of scoping out the building and setting up the main base of operations closer to the scene. In the van, Diana and Jones were monitoring the surveillance while Peter kept in continuous contact with the Special Agent in Charge of the operation, SAC Williams, as well as different team leaders. So really the only one sprawled out was Neal, with his feet up on the monitor table, playing with a rubber band ball. Where he had gotten the ball, Peter had no idea.
“Really, Petter, a warehouse? Criminals have no imagination anymore.” His CI complained.
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Neal; they are international smugglers. Where else would they be keeping their cargo?” Peter huffed, trying to stay focused on the communicators in case new information came through.
“I’m just saying it’s a cliché, isn’t it? Of course, the police are going to find you if you keep your illegal stuff in a warehouse and on the docks as well. It’s obvious by this point.” Neal continues passionately, and to be honest, Peter might agree. Not that he is going to tell Neal that. Instead, he just grunts an affirmative, which only seems to make Neal smile more.
“Oh, stop worrying so much, Peter. This is easygoing for us; I just wish we were closer to the action.” Throughout their conversation Neal never stops throwing the rubber ball in the air. Neal might be leaning back in his chair with his legs up, but the pent-up energy was basically radiating off his skin, ready to move.
“This is more than close enough for us to move in and do our part. And I’m not worried.” Peter lies, mostly.
“Yeah, if someone is bound to screw up this operation, it’s the meatheads in organised crime,” Jones chimed in.
“No one is going to screw up.” Diana says resolutely, “Our part in this is easy; Caffrey just has to verify that the stolen artwork is the real deal. We are not even here to make any arrests.”
“Right.” Peter was still not convinced; he had a bad feeling in his gut about this one, that was for sure. What he couldn’t quite figure out was if the bad feeling was courtesy of his CI or not. “Let’s just make sure we are ready to go when the Special Agent in Charge gives us the all clear.”
About one hour later the operation was in full effect. Multiple teams had gone ahead to deal with the more violent and dangerous parts of the organisation they were taking down, and arrests were already underway. Peter and his team were hanging back, listening over the radio that Peter had strapped to his bulletproof vest.
“Agent Burke, we have located and secured the area storing the stolen artwork, but there is a hell of a lot more than we were anticipating. You and your team are free to move towards the southwest side of the building, over.” The staticky voice was coming out of Peter's radio.
“Copy that, over.” At Peter's words they were moving.
It did not take long for the team to reach where the goods were being stored, and upon arriving, the commander’s statement of ‘a hell of a lot more’ was starting to feel like an understatement. There was seemingly an endless row of shelves with goods that awaited their inspection.
“Boss, this really is a lot more than we were expecting,” Diana voiced.
“We will have other teams of evidence come in to catalogue all of this; our job remains to verify the stolen paintings so we can close the museum case. Take care not to contaminate any of the evidence while we look for the paintings. Understood?” At his last words, Peter looked at his CI.
Neal promptly lifted his hands in a show of surrender. “Understood, Peter, no prodding at all at the beautiful artwork and priceless artefacts.”
Peter was decidedly not comforted by that.
Dick couldn’t really fault Peter for being cautious about letting a known criminal with an affinity for art loose on a haul of uncatalogued goods. Peter is no idiot, and, in this situation, it would be laughably easy to slip a couple of diamonds in his pocket without anyone being the wiser for it. Even if his undercover persona might have been tempted, neither Dick nor the persona of Neal was interested in breaking the FBI agent's trust like that. Not when the team had started becoming more like friends than colleagues.
Another factor in the no-stealing pros and cons list was that already at a distance Dick could detect magical signatures from the items stored here, while others looked like they were not from this planet altogether. Touching any of these things without proper precaution could have any range of consequences. The Justice League would have to be contacted to come deal with this.
Dick wasn’t sure how to voice his deduction or concern to his team. He might not be an expert, but the now two decades of vigilantism as Robin and then Nightwing had given him a solid understanding and ability to know when to stay clear of magical stuff. Neal Caffrey, on the other hand, should not know any of this, making the situation a lot harder to deal with.
Before he could think of any hints to give the team trying to clue them in, they decided to split up. There was too much ground to cover if they want to find the paintings and close the case any time soon.
“Diana and Jones go right; Neal and I will go left. Stay in contact on our private line over the coms and do not touch anything without gloves.” Peter says before looking around with a frown, “Actually try to touch as little as possible; this place doesn’t feel right.” At least Peter is starting to catch on.
As they made their way down the aisle, Peter was practically stepping on Dick's heels. He could see everything from vases that wouldn’t have been out of place in Wayne Manor to something that looked suspicious, like human bones. And were his eyes playing tricks on him, or were they glowing ever so slightly? The JL really should be notified. Hopefully they would find the paintings and get out of here as soon as possible.
“I have a bad feeling about this place, Peter.” Dick started; the agents would hopefully pick up on the particular kind of strangeness as well.
Peter simply raises an eyebrow at him.
Yeah, okay, maybe it's not completely in character for Neal Caffrey to want to leave a place like this. Dick, on the other hand, could not wait to get out of here. The deeper into the rows of shelves he went, the more intense the cold feeling of eyes on the back of his neck grew.
“Come on, Peter, you have to agree that something about this place feels off.”
Peter took a second to answer but eventually just sighed and nodded his head.
Sometimes Petter really reminded Dick of Bruce with all the sighing and huffing. Peter wasn’t nearly as broody as B, but Dick could swear that sometimes Peter’s exasperations with him felt paternal. It was nice, especially now while he was spending so much time away from his family. He tried visiting as much as he could, but with an undercover job like this, the opportunities were short and far between. Not nearly enough to keep the homesickness at bay.
The further they pushed on down the aisle that seemed to get colder and darker with every row, Dick could tell that some of Peter’s bravado was starting to fade. When Dick was about to call a stop to it all, he spotted one of the paintings peeking out from under a tarp on one of the lower-level shelves. “Peter, I found them!”
“Oh, thank god, let’s be quick about it and get out of here.”
Dick put on a pair of disposable gloves and carefully removed the tarp to reveal a bunch more paintings. “Looks like they are all here,” he breathed.
“And the authenticity?” Peter urged.
“Yes, yes, give me a second.”
Dick had practised all the skills necessary for playing Neal Caffrey to the point where he knew he could do them, but at times like this it would have been nice to be a seasoned art forger. Fishing the magnifying glass out of his pocket, he tried his best to hide his inexperience from his body language. This is what Neal Caffrey lived for, and Dick couldn’t let Peter see any hesitancy from him.
Before he could get to work at looking closer at the paintings, Diana’s voice sounded over the communicator in their ear. “Boss, something is wrong with Jones; you need to come quick.” Diana's words were all business, but the urgency in her voice sent alarm bells ringing in Dick's head.
Oh, this is not good.
Dick was running back up the aisle, leaving Peter scrambling to follow. He can’t help but feel like if something bad happened to Jones because of the strange nature of the artefacts, it’s his fault for not giving them a clear warning.
When he makes it to where Diana and Jones are standing, the scene that meets him is almost underwhelming. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but his mind had conjured up a slide show of worst-case scenarios.
Jones was standing by a shelf, clearly in the process of moving stuff to get a better look at what could be canvases further in. Clenched in his gloved hands was a pocket watch no bigger than the palm of his hand. At first glance the watch looked quite inconspicuous. Old and expensive-looking? Sure, but dangerous? Not very much.
“Jones?” He prompts with no success of getting the agent's attention.
Taking a closer look, it becomes clearer what got Diana so spooked. Jones was completely frozen where he stood; he didn’t even seem to be breathing. The hands of the clock were moving at an unnatural speed anticlockwise, and looking at Jones's face, he was completely unresponsive, entranced by the spiralling of the clock hands.
Dick is no expert on magic, but he could deduce enough in the seconds it took him to take in the scene that Jones needs to be broken out of the trance, and that as quickly as possible.
Fast-approaching footsteps sound as Peter catches up behind him, and he knows he needs to make a split-second decision. Dick can hear the beginnings of what is going to be a command from his handler and is probably going to sound something like, “Neal, don’t you dare!” But Dick can’t be sure as he wrenches the clock out of Jones’s hand and is promptly enveloped in the most nauseating sensation as the world spirals into black in front of his eyes.