A/N: Okay, so, here goes. This is my second attempt at White Collar fic, first attempt at Chuck fic, and first attempt at a crossover of any kind. So please, be gentle. Also, while I have been a White Collar fan from the start, the same can not be said for Chuck. I knew a little bit about it because Matt Bomer was in it, but I had this fic planned from the first moment I saw the promos for "Point Blank", at which point I had never seen a single episode of Chuck. I did, however, go out today and buy season 1, so I'm catching up. Hopefully this will get better. And FYI, reviews are always helpful, to let me know what I'm doing right/wrong, and to keep me motivated (read: guilted) into writing more.
Disclaimer: If I owned White Collar or Chuck this would totally be an episode. As it's not, I obviously don't. Sure, rub it in.
Warning: Assume there's spoilers for, like, everything. Well, everything that's been aired, at least.
CIAgent
"Tell me why you killed Kate!"
No, Peter thought. No, no, no. This couldn't be happening. "Neal, put the gun down! Neal, don't do this!"
"He killed her, Peter. He killed Kate."
Peter shook his head, denying the scene in front of him. Neal, with a gun trained on a man, with his finger on the trigger. "Neal, this isn't you." He knew Neal had a good heart. He'd seen it, in the way he looked at Elizabeth, at Peter himself, first with tentative hope, but later with trust, and love, and always a little bit of disbelief, as though he couldn't understand how these two people could possibly care for him. Peter had seen it in the way he'd risked his freedom, his very life for Mozzie, simply because he'd asked. Peter knew Neal had a good heart, because he'd watched it bleed, as he'd held the trembling, screaming boy to him, while fire blazed in the background.
Just because Peter knew he had a good heart though, didn't mean that he was oblivious to anything else. He knew that Neal had secrets. He hadn't failed to notice the confidence with which he'd held that shotgun, or the coldness in his eyes when he'd fired it. He hadn't failed to notice that Neal hadn't offered any answers, and Peter had feared to ask.
"I want him to know how it felt. How she felt."
Peter could see the coldness entering Neal's eyes again, the way his finger tightened on the trigger, and Peter would have lunged for him if not for the almost imperceptible way his hand shook.
"Look at me. Look at me, Neal. Neal. Look at me, Neal. Come on. This isn't who you are."
Neal turned, just barely, his eyes flickering to Peter's. They were too old. They were far, far too old for someone so young, and held more pain than any man should be made to endure. His voice was impossibly sad, and filled with something Peter might have called regret, when he replied, "You don't know who I am."
"Yes I do. I know you. Better than just about anyone. Trust me, Neal. I need you to trust me."
His hand shook a little more, and his voice was barely above a whisper when he replied, "I trust you."
"Then give me the gun."
Peter could see Neal struggling with himself, an almost physical thing, as a dozen unnamed emotions danced behind his eyes. He glanced at Fowler, then back to Peter, almost pleadingly, as he took a tentative step towards his friend.
Peter stepped forward quickly, removing the gun from his grasp, and handing it off to Diana. He laid a gentle hand on Neal's back, and pulled him close, murmuring a quiet "Good boy, Neal."
Peter was about to move towards Fowler, prepared to cuff and Mirandize him, when suddenly the room exploded in an eruption of gunfire. Peter made to grab Neal on his way to the floor, but Neal was already there, crouched low behind a crate, clever eyes scanning the room as bullets whizzed through the air, and glass and plaster rained down on them.
It seemed to last for hours, seconds stretched impossibly long as Peter crouched beside Neal, one arm up to shield his eyes from the onslaught of debris, but really it could barely have been a minute before their ears were left ringing in the vacuum of silence. Peter turned to Neal to check that he was okay, but the younger man shot up and across the room in a flash. Peter rose as well, quickly trying to assess the damage, while keeping Neal in his immediate sight.
The room was in shambles, but that was to be expected, and barely registered somewhere in the back of his mind. Diana - unharmed. The Security Guard - shaken, but unharmed. Fowler - crap.
Fowler was on the ground, with Neal kneeling over him. Peter rushed to join them, and immediately noted the two GSWs to Fowler's chest. Crap. He was alive, but barely, and not for long.
Neal's voice had taken on a dangerous, desperate quality when he demanded of Fowler, "Why did you kill Kate? What do you know? Tell me what you know! Why would anyone want to kill Kate?"
Fowler laughed, and it was only years of experience as an FBI agent that kept Peter's stomach from churning at the choked, gurgling noise, and the blood that frothed up, staining his lips. "It was never about Kate," he said, his eyes full of cruel amusement, fixed on Neal's face.
"Then why?"
Fowler's face twisted into an ugly smirk, as he gasped out, "It was always about you."
Peter's heart clenched in fear and worry, and he almost missed Fowler's final words.
"Mr. Larkin."
A/N - One last quick note. I will try to have another chapter posted in a farly reasonable amount of time, but I am a University student, and am therefore subjected to the horrible thing known as schoolwork, so please bear with me, and I will do my best. And also, thanks very much for reading and reviewing! :)