[ psl / closed ]

[privatematter]

Surprisingly, it was not one of the boring days up at the FBI building for Neal Caffrey. There were things going on, a case to be solved, and just enough work that Neal could keep his mind off other, less legal activities. As much as he ever stopped thinking along that train of thought, anyway. But for right now, Peter was up with a witness that Neal's presence kept agitating (how was he supposed to know George Langely's old poker connections would end up flipping on this guy?) and Neal was left dithering around at his desk. Waiting for a new lead to present itself. Currently, their witness was the only chance they had at catching up with their real suspect, but until they could get him to say something or otherwise frighten him into going underground to be followed...

Well, it left a lot of entertainment to be desired.

With not much else to do, Neal made his way to the coffee machine and eyed the rest of the room in speculation. Everyone had something going on today, but there were a few agents who were easy to distract in the office today. They were hard workers, capable of catching up on any work he'd make them lose, and Peter rarely ever called him on it since the fear of getting in trouble for stopping to chat tended to make them work more efficiently anyway. He was just about to make his way over, extra mug of coffee in hand, when he spotted the stairwell door opening. Black hair popped out on top of an attractive face, glanced around in abject confusion, and then shut itself back in.

"One of these things is not like the other," Neal muttered to himself, making a quick drop of the mugs at a random agent's desk as he made for the office doors. He waved behind himself when Jones spoke up ("Grabbing some real coffee today!"), and hurried his way into the elevator to let himself off at another floor and slip into the stairwell behind the stranger.

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[privatematter]

Neal was mostly quiet for Eli's explanation. As if in a show of support, he had not taken his usual place opposite of Peter at the desk, instead standing nearby and letting his presence do the talking. It was good that Peter wasn't immediately shooting him down; he knew for a fact that Peter was grasping at straws what to do with him in regards to the memories of an impossible life, the magic Neal had suddenly started developing a talent for at the beginning of their arrangement. Nowhere in the work release papers had it mentioned dealing with an accidentally-pyrotechnic criminal informant. Neal was lucky Peter knew as well as he did that throwing him back to the wolves with no other reasoning would look fishy and, to be entirely honest, probably make things so much worse.

Something inside of him stirred at the idea of dragon. Almost like a whisper across his skin, someone caressing his mind and trying to urge thoughts and feelings into wakefulness that had no right taking over. It sounded right. It sounded crazy. All it really meant was that Neal's life was crazy, but no less real because of it. He gave an uncertain, yet trusting nod to Peter.

Elijah's proclamation of showing off his power didn't surprise Neal. He had already given a small indication in the elevator. It was what other things he could do with it that got a startled breath out of the conman. Why did Neal get stuck with something unsubtle and bombastic like fire when he could have gotten that? (Ignoring for a moment that he had managed to use the unintentional arson to the benefit of the FBI on an occasion or two, even with Peter's blessing more often than not. That was creative use of difficult resources, which was completely different.)

Thoughts falling immediately to keeping this under wraps, Neal glanced to the bull pen. No one had yet noticed, but the place was crawling with competently trained federal agents. Stuttering only slightly, Neal reached out to the space where Eli was just a moment ago. "Elijah? What did you do?" Another glance to the milling agents. "Now would be a really good time to come back."