Chapter Text
Peter stared at the man in front of him in utter bemusement.
To be fair, Timothy Drake-Wayne hadn’t been at all what Peter had expected at any point in their interaction. While Peter tried not to form expectations in general, there were certain patterns you got used to while working in the White Collar Division. Spoiled rich kids and arrogant businessmen were a dime a dozen and Peter had learned to balance an open and professional mind with realism.
Realism that had maybe gained a sarcastic tone the longer Neal had stayed in the office.
Peter had gone into his meeting hoping for an intelligent contact who’d risen to his rather lofty position in Wayne Enterprises through sheer force of will and sound decisions, but prepared for a pampered socialite who’d coasted through on daddy’s coattails.
What he got, however, was a ferociously smart young man that was absolutely livid about the underhanded dealings of one his people. Peter was admittedly impressed.
Rarely, if ever, had a meeting gone so smoothly. Timothy Drake-Wayne had come to the table prepared with paper trails, video footage, and a ten page plan on how to smooth over repercussions so that the regular employees of their New York office would barely feel a thing, despite their funds beings so poorly and insidiously mismanaged.
Peter was a little less impressed with the dark shadows under Drake-Wayne’s eyes, and the way his hand kept reaching for the obnoxiously large portable coffee mug that had been empty for at least an hour. He’d almost offered to get the kid some more, particularly since Neal had replaced all the mediocre FBI coffee with something Peter feared to question in case it disappeared, but then he’d seen the slight shake to the kid’s hand. More caffeine was probably not the answer.
Muffins might be. Peter had started bringing El’s muffins to work ever since Peter had realized Neal mainly used lunch and coffee breaks as an excuse to get out of the office. The man was actually terrible at eating regularly, breakfast in particular, and tended to look all sad (as in slightly and only if you looked past the mask) if Peter brought it up. So he brought muffins instead.
The meeting was just wrapping up, which was good, since Peter could possibly offer the kid a muffin, and also because he could see the back of Neal’s head bent over another origami bird. It had been hard to count from his office and the focus that Drake-Wayne had demanded through sheer force of his own, but Peter was pretty sure that was the fifth one this morning.
So much for the mortgage-fraud cases Peter had left for the CI. He’d only managed to keep Neal out of the meeting by scheduling it an hour earlier than their normal start time, which Drake-Wayne had been fast to agree to (a fact that surprised Peter less now that he’d seen the vindictive pleasure the young man took in nailing the duplicitous board member to the wall), and promising Neal the meeting would be worse than mortgage fraud.
He’d feel bad for lying, except Neal had recently landed Peter three hours of extra paperwork with his most recent stunt involving a third story window, a wait staff’s jacket, and an emerald the size of Peter’s fist. The fact that it should have been six hours and Neal’s smirk had been just a moment too late and shade to tired wasn’t a factor at all.
“Thank you, Agent Burke.”
Peter had to hold back a snort even as he shook Drake-Wayne’s strong and callused hand. “Please don’t. That was one of the easiest and least stressful meetings about dirty-dealings I’ve ever had. I was prepared for at least four rounds of denial.”
Drake-Wayne gave a light smirk. “Fawcett was clever, but I’m better. It didn’t take much poking around to find the trail. He only got away with it because I’ve been so distracted lately.”
Peter must have given some sort of look along with his pause as he tried to figure out if now was the time to offer one of El’s cranberry muffins, because Drake-Wayne continued as if Peter had asked a question.
“I’ve been working on another project this last year or two that has required a fair bit of my time.” He hesitated, before rubbing the skin under one eye. “It’s personal, and has taken up a rather lot of my thoughts, even when I’m supposed to be focused on other things.”
“Oh, I get that.” Peter watched Neal get up to place a paper pelican on Jones’s desk. “Believe me, I do.”
“Yes, well, I’ll have to keep a better eye-“ Drake-Wayne froze so suddenly that Peter found himself reaching out in worry before he even registered the movement. The kid’s body was suddenly tense enough to be strung up with puppet wires.
He took a shaky breath, the kind that rattled through his lungs and sounded like funeral bells, before spinning around and pressing both hands to his eyes.
“Fuck. Fuck,” he muttered.
With wide and red eyes he turned back to Peter, angling his body so that anyone in the bull pen wouldn’t be able to get a clear sight-line but Drake-Wayne could still watch as Neal laughingly dodged Diana swatting his head with a file and danced back to his seat.
“Who is that?” Drake-Wayne’s tone was flat and at complete odds with his posture.
“Neal Caffrey,” Perter replied, calm and perhaps a bit colder than he had been a moment before. “My CI. If he has been involved in an incident with Wayne Enterprises in anyway-“
“Caffrey? Wait, CI? He’s a criminal? For what? And how long?”
Peter frowned. Drake -Wayne was sounded almost manic, and Peter was, possibly, a little protective of Neal after everything they’d been through. On the other hand, it wasn’t like the answer to those questions was hard to find.
And there was something about Drake-Wayne’s eyes. They were just a shade away from desperate. A shade perhaps more closely related to beseeching. Either way, this was the first time all morning the Peter thought Drake-Wayne looked young.
“Neal specializes in forgery and theft, particularly of art. He has been, however, a great help to the White Collar Division for some time now.”
Drake-Wayne let out a laugh that was almost a sob. “Art. Oh my god. Of course it was art. And a do-gooder criminal. What a golden boy.” The kid reached for his phone without even looking at Peter.
Peter raised an eyebrow as Drake-Wayne raised his phone and started talking before the other person could even say a word.
“Jay. Jay, it’s him, it’s fucking him.” He paused, listening. “Yes, I’m fucking sure. No, I didn’t run any tests. He’s here! As in, where I am! This wasn’t planned. I, no. No. Listen.”
There was more noise from the other end of the phone, definitely some more swearing, but Peter couldn’t make anything else out.
Drake-Wayne let out another strangled noise, which silenced the other person more effectively than anything else had. “Because I know that stance and that laugh and those stupid paper birds! Because even as criminal he’s helping people. Because art! He’s an art thief and forger.”
There was silence for a moment, before Peter heard a quiet yet perfectly articulate “fuck” from the phone.
“I know. I’m disappointed in myself. It would have been logical to check the art world. That’s just the kind of sentimental action he would take. Hm. What do you think I’m going to do?”
Drake-Wayne turned slightly to stare again at Neal, before his spine straightened and his shoulders shifted back. “I’m going to throw away my pride, my professionalism, and my dignity by resorting to my big brother’s favourite weapon. Even though it has been only ever used against me.”
Peter blinked and Drake-Wayne smirked. It was a dangerous smirk. “Exactly. Though it is not my usual method of attack and I’m not entirely sure of my efficiency. Please hurry with the ultimate weapon. Yes, the New York FBI, White Collar Division. See you as soon as possible.”
Drake-Wayne tucked his phone into his pocket and tugged the sleeves of his jacket into position before turning back to Peter.
“Thank you for your time this morning. Wayne Enterprises will be in touch. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go smother my big brother with enough physical affection and positive attention that he finds it impossible to run for at least an hour.”
He then turned to march down out of Peter’s office and down the stairs. It took a good thirty seconds for Peter to fully absorb the words and follow.