#timdekay

I made a slightly cartoonish version of Neal Caffrey and it is also the first time I've drawn Neal (or Matt Bomer). I'm still improving my art and I hope you like it <3

It's the first video edit that I've been able to finish and feel enough good about to publish, so I'm really excited to see what you guys will think!

The video file is approx. 14.1MB, and a quick google search tells me that tumblr allows you to post videos up to 100MB so I might post it here. Other options I'm considering are posting it on youtube and/or ao3, and adding a link on a post here. Let me know what you think!

At least Agent Rice did not mind Neal spending money on clothes. He had used the opportunity to buy some shirts from Pink, the English brand. He simply loved them but was way out of his official budget based on his income from the FBI. But he did not mind sending Rice a bill for a suit and three shirts when he had the chance. He had even added a tie and a pair of cuff-links to make the set complete. He had explained to her about his not entirely true wardrobe situation and that he needed something appropriate for going clubbing, told her he just owned a few second-hand unfashionable clothes.

Neal adjusted his tie under the supervision of Mozzie.

"You're letting the pantsuit use you as bait to catch Wilkes?" he asked from his position on the sofa. "Doesn't that strike you as insane?"

"I'm going to a club," Neal reminded him. "The feds will be right outside."

"This is the same Wilkes that wants you dismembered, right?"

"Dismembered is slightly overstating it. You're being paranoid."

Neal picked up his jacket. He liked his rat-pack suits, but he simply adored the lovely light-gray material in this new suit from Pink.

"Paranoia is a skill, the secret to longevity," Mozzie assured him. "Did you not join Wilkes' crew, gather intel from his targets, and then totally screw him over?"

True. Wilkes had valid reasons to dislike him.

"They were planning to hurt people with guns. I don't like guns." He had done the right thing. "For all we know, Wilkes is on his way to Tahiti right now."

"For all we know, he's sharpening his talons to tear into your spleen."

Mozzie despised violence. That was one of the things he loved about his friend. But it also made him believe that everyone capable of violence wanted to use it in exuberance.

"Thanks for your concern, Moz," he replied, not without annoyance. "But this little field trip is my best chance to get the anklet removed. Alex won't talk about the music box while it's on."

"Oh, you professional thieves, so high-maintenance," Mozzie rolled his eyes. "I'm washing my hands of this."

Neal's phone pinged. Again. He checked the message.

"Rice is here. Duty calls."

"I get the apartment," Mozzie said as he passed through the door. Well, the wine storage would not refill itself he would soon realize.

Neal got inside Rice's car and they flew across Manhattan. Then they parked near where the underground club was and waited.

"You know, you kept me waiting outside that rich lady's house for half an hour," she said, breaking the silence. It was true. And he had not been ready to leave when she first texted.

"You can't rush style, Agent Rice."

"Took me less time to get ready for my wedding," she snorted. Neal glanced at her and she saw it. She raised her left hand showing the lack of a wedding band on her finger. "It didn't take."

"I'm not surprised," Neal said and saw at once that he should have kept his mouth shut. "Statistically speaking," he added.

"Okay, it's time for you to go fishing, Caffrey."

Neal was not eager to leave the car. She had not brought up the anklet, so he had to.

"This is a hush-hush kind of place," he told her. "There's a good chance they'll be patting me down. Be a shame if my tracking anklet blew your case."

She brought up a pair of scissors.

"Cut it."

"Really?"

He took the scissors.

"I'm not an idiot. I'm not sending you undercover with that. Go on. Lose it."

Neal bent down, cut the band with its metal threads and handed it all to Rice.

"There you go."

It was hard not to smile. Now he could meet with Alex. He left the car and walked across the street. The gate leading to one of the club entrances was right ahead. A car blinked with its lights. So there was his backup. He stopped by the gate, hesitated. Then he turned to Rice and gestured that he would go around and try the other side, pretending it was locked where he was.

He was loyal to Peter. Kimberly Rice had given him no reason to be loyal to her. He would not give them a reason to put him back but he around the corner was dark and a lot of shadows. Where he could give Alex a call and meet her without anybody knowing. Neither Rice nor her agents would know who Alex was if they saw her coming and leaving.

Neal passed the gate into the churchyard going along the building with the church on the other side. His phone rang. It was from Peter.

"Peter, I'm in the middle of something right now, okay?"

"You need to get out of there now."

"What?" Peter could not possibly have figured out his plans, could he?

"Neal, you're the ransom."

Then he felt a stunning pain in his neck and everything went black.

Peter heard a sound from his phone that he was not sure he actually heard. He picked it up from his desk. It was an alarm alright and the particular alarm he had hoped never to hear again.

"Jones," he called through the open door.

The young agent was nearby.

"Yeah?"

"Caffrey just removed his anklet."

It was not the kind of trouble he had expected from the kid. Still, his mind was already figuring out what he needed to get the chase started.

"Yeah," Jones nodded. "Rice cleared it."

Peter stared and felt his pulse return to normal.

"Rice?"

He stared at Jones and realized he was disappointed. Neal was one of few who he had really enjoyed chasing. Probably because he left little damage in his tracks. Then his mind returned to reality. Rice? Why would she need Neal to cut the anklet?

His eyes fell on the father of the kidnapped child, hovering in their little kitchenette. He remembered Jones had said that he was here and just wanted to be here while they worked on the case. At the time Peter had been far too annoyed with the whole situation with Rice to case but now… Something was not right.

He walked down to the man, whose worries could be seen without being a behavioral expert. He smiled at the man and helped him to arrange for some coffee in his cup.

"Mr. Gless, right?" He got a nod in return. "I'm Agent Peter Burke. How you holding up?"

"Oh, had to get out of the house. Agent Rice said I could wait here."

Wait for what, Peter wondered as Gless sat down by the table.

"Of course."

He poured himself a cup of coffee as well.

"I didn't expect Caffrey to be so charming," Gless said and Peter smiled. "This would be so much easier if he acted more like a criminal."

"Yeah, of course," Peter replied with a nagging feeling.

"I just hope this goes right."

Peter smiled and tried to turn on his Caffrey-charm to make the man at ease.

"If it helps, I can walk you through it." He sat down opposite the worried father. "What are you worried about most?"

"The meeting."

"The meeting," Peter repeated. "What troubles you about that?"

"The kidnapper calls, then asks for a meeting with Caffrey in exchange for Lindsay. That seems too easy."

Peter fought to keep a straight face. He knew he had heard that right but could not believe it still.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Excuse me."

He rose and brought out his phone. He speed-dialed Neal.

"Peter, I'm in the middle of something right now, okay?" the kid answered.

"You need to get out of there now," Peter ordered.

"What?"

"Neal, you're the ransom."

Then there was an electrical sound and Peter thought he heard a body fall to the ground.

"Neal? Neal!"

The line was dead.

"Jones!"

"Yeah, what is it, Peter?"

"Call Rice and tell her to find Caffrey! Right now!"

He marched into Hughes's office, too angry for his own good, he knew it.

"Rice sold Neal," he burst.

The senior agent watched Peter from the other side of his desk without moving a muscle in his face.

"Calm down, Peter. I'm not the enemy here."

Peter nodded and took a few breaths.

"Now, tell me what you know," his boss encouraged and Peter told about the cut anklet and his conversation with Gless.

"And Caffrey is gone?"

"I hope her team gets there in time to stop… But…"

"Get Rice in here, with or without Caffrey."

Peter knew his boss well enough to know he was upset but professional enough to do his job and not jump to conclusions without the facts.

"What about Kate?" Peter asked and walked around approaching the sofa.

"Well, you told me to forget her."

"And you listened to me?"

"There's a first time for everything."

There was a small chessboard in the bookshelf, mid-play.

"Oh, who you playing?" Peter asked and moved a pawn.

"Please, don't touch that," Neal said at once and Peter moved the pawn back. "What are you doing here? What happened to the hotel?"

"Motel," Peter corrected. "And it was occupied."

"Oh, the dog still staying there?"

"Yeah. What's with the dog?"

So Peter had finally realized that he needed more than a bed and a TV.

"Now you understand why I was forced to seek other accommodations."

"Lucky for us," Peter said with a smile that Neal was not sure he liked.

"Us?"

"Yeah. Su casa es mi casa, right?"

"Right…" He had said that and meant it, but now when he had Peter there, unexpected and breaking up an important meeting, maybe delaying the retrieval of the box for months and months, he was not in his best mood to have his handler as a guest any longer.

"Oh, I just got hungry," Peter declared and sat down on the sofa. "Where's the remote?"

Neal realized that no matter how much he loved Peter and how much he would do anything to save his life, he could not live with the man.

"This is gonna be really fun," he mumbled as he walked towards the kitchenette. "Would you like some wine?"

"Beer if you have."

Neal did have a beer. Not because he drank it himself, but because both Peter and Jones did, and life had taught him that is was a good thing to be able to offer something to drink that the guest enjoyed. He even made sure he had of both Peter's and Jones' favorite brands. Neal took the only bottle out of the fridge, opened it and gave it to Peter.

"Have you eaten?"

"No, have you?"

"No. I'll get started right away."

"There's a Domino around the corner," Peter said. "I'll pay."

"No, thanks." Neal opened the fridge again and brought out the ingredients.

"Thought you liked pizza."

Peter had found the remote control and turned the TV on, finding a baseball game.

"This is my home, Peter. In my home, there are certain standards." Whatever subtext Neal had tried to imply on that comment, it was lost on Peter. As he had thought it would be.

"As you please."

"How much is left of the game?"

"Oh, about an hour."

"Good. Dinner is ready in an hour." No way that he would risk that Peter took his plate and sat down with it on the sofa to watch the game.

Peter did not seem too happy about it. He glanced at his preparation by the stove.

"Didn't know you could cook."

Neal grinned. It was not easy to surprise Peter in that department.

"Which chef do you imitate?" his guest asked. What? "I mean, you are a forger. You copy things."

He glanced at Peter, who obviously thought it was very funny. For Neal, it was not.

"Peter, that was crossing the line."

Peter's smile was gone.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"I know."

The irony was that the one reason Neal loved to cook was that it could not be forged. Whatever he did in the kitchen it was his own work. No fake, no trick. To be able to excel in something entirely depending on his own skill helped him feel like something more than a crook.

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