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elrhiarhodanTitle: The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Elizabeth Mitchell, Peter Burke, OMCs
Spoilers: Pilot, Bad Judgment
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Word Count: ~3000
Beta Credit:coffeethyme4me
Summary: What happened before Peter abused FBI resources and put a lovely assistant manager of a downtown art gallery under surveillance. Or, Peter and Elizabeth meet cute.
A/N: An extra day for my 2012 Fic-Can-Ukah meme, the prompt was “The First Time We Met – Peter/Elizabeth” and written foraragarna. As a gift for ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fandom_stocking 2013, Aragarna gave me cover art for this story, which is under the cut.
__________________
Antonio discreetly pointed out the big guy in the bad suit looking at the Willem De Kooning, the jewel of this particularly show. “Elli, dahling, what do you think?”
They had been playing this game for a year, since she started working at the Diarmitt Gallery. Her title was Assistant Manager, but in truth, Elizabeth Mitchell was nothing more than a glorified gofer, billing clerk and all-around Girl Friday. Sometimes – like today – she helped out in the gallery space. Her father had insisted on a practical major – like accounting, but she minored in art history, so she could hold her own here. Antonio was the personal assistant to the Acquisitions Director, which meant fetching a lot of coffee and pastries and not much else. He joked that he majored in looking pretty and minored in blowjobs, and that was all he needed to get by. As flamboyant as a peacock, Antonio was the best friend a newly minted New Yorker could have.
She looked over the visitor, and even in the bad suit and boring haircut, she could tell he had a good body. “Brooks Brothers, about three years old, probably a year-end close out. Too busy to have the suit tailored properly. From his shoes, I’d say Fed.”
That last bit sent Antonio’s plucked brows skyward and he clutched at a metaphorical strand of pearls. “A Fed? My goodness, what would a Fed want with our precious De Kooning?”
Elizabeth shrugged, playing dumb. “Don’t have the slightest clue.”
“Hmmm, maybe I should ask. He is really kind of hot. Suppose it’s too much to hope that he’d be swinging my way.”
Antonio sashayed over to the guy and El sighed. She adored Antonio; he knew he was a walking, talking cliché and he simply didn’t give a damn. She wished she had just as much self-assurance.
The guy - the possible Fed - didn’t even blink when Antonio approached him, touching his arm, getting deep into his personal space. He smiled and nodded and gave no hint that he was the least bit uncomfortable with her co-worker’s flamboyant behavior. The man asked a question and Antonio smiled and looked over at her. His gaze followed.
For the first time, she got a look at the man’s face. He wasn’t classically handsome, and working in a downtown art gallery frequented by the glitterati, Elizabeth was accustomed to physical perfection walking through the front door. It didn’t have any power over her, at least not since her first month, when she discovered just how ugly so many of the beautiful people behaved. There was something about this man, something that transcended beauty. His face seemed to be made for smiling. He struck her as a man happy with his life, not so much content as comfortable in his skin. Maybe he wasn’t a Fed, but simply someone who appreciated art but liked comfortable shoes and ugly suits. Still, he had a lovely body and she idly wondered what he’d look like in better tailoring. Antonio said something and looked her way.
Their eyes met and all thoughts of men’s clothing fled. Elizabeth couldn’t ever remember having such a visceral reaction to anyone. It was like she was on fire. It wasn’t just sexual. In fact, she wasn’t sure if it was sexual at all. His gaze made her feel complete, as if she belonged with him.
The intensity flared and faded as their gaze broke. The man flushed and looked away. Elizabeth looked down at the stack of invoices she was holding and was about to make a bee-line for her office when Antonio, who saw everything, sauntered back to her.
“Dahling, Mr. Tall, Dark and Badly Dressed wants to talk with you about the De Kooning.” As he passed her, he whispered, “And if you don’t want him, send him my way, ‘kay?”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
There were moments in his life that Peter knew he’d never forget. This was one of them. Oh, not getting chatted up by the pretty boy who approached him like he was a cross between a dangerous animal and potential dating material, but the moment he set eyes on the woman standing under the skylight, bathed in a shaft of winter sunshine.
Peter knew many things about himself; chief amongst them was that he was the opposite of a smooth operator. He could discuss anything from the political situation in Bhutan to the effect of last year’s drought on the price of an ice cream cone in Yankee Stadium with strangers, but when it came to making small talk with a beautiful woman, he was useless.
So it was a good thing that he was at the Diarmitt Gallery on official business and he would have a reason to talk to her.
Someone had filed an anonymous tip about an organized effort to dodge sales tax payments. Normally, that would have been turned over to state authorities, but there was a possible mob connection and that meant that OC should have fielded this case. Except that Organized Crime was up to their necks in a flood of heroin trafficking cases and had no interest in such small beans.
Peter could have reminded them that Al Capone was convicted of tax fraud and pushed the case back, but his gut told him to take a walk down to the Diarmitt Gallery and see what was going on.
He was polite to the young gay man trying to ascertain just what he was interested in – the art or him. There was no harm in being nice.
“Can I show you anything in particular?”
Peter gave him a small, almost knowing smile. “The De Kooning is spectacular, one of his later paintings, I believe. I may be going against the popular trend, but I prefer them to his more iconic Women series from the Forties.”
The boy’s eyes glazed over, despite his employment here, he clearly wasn’t an art aficionado. “Maybe you should talk to Elizabeth – ” He tossed his head towards the woman standing in the back of the gallery. “She’s the Assistant Manager.”
Angels may have sounded their trumpets or wept or taken to battle as the Heavenly Host, but he wouldn’t have noticed. The only thing he saw was a pair of beautiful blue eyes, a pert nose and a smile that made his heart beat a little too fast. To his embarrassment, Peter could feel the start of a flop sweat working its way up from the base of his spine. He surreptitiously wiped his damp palm against his trouser leg as she approached.
The woman was even more beautiful up close, and while he’d deny that he had a type, she pushed all his buttons.
“Antonio tells me you’re interested in our De Kooning?”
Peter swallowed and hoped his voice wouldn’t climb back into its pre-pubescent registers. “Yes, um, yes I am, Mrs?” Oh, god. He didn’t believe he just resorted to that old trick.
“It’s Ms., Ms. Elizabeth Mitchell.”
“Well, Ms. Mitchell, I’m quite interested in the painting.”
“You are familiar with the artist?”
“Yes – I was just explaining to your co-worker that I prefer De Kooning’s later works - they are a lot clearer, more graphic. I’m looking to make a new acquisition, and this one has caught my eye.” Peter hadn’t planned on engaging with any of the gallery staff today. He wasn’t at all ready for even such a minor undercover operation. His boss would kill him if he blew this.
“Well, this is a good representation of the series, and would be a superb investment. De Kooning has been very hot.” Her tone was mildly enthusiastic and Peter wondered if she actually liked the artist’s work. It looked like something his six year old niece might have painted.
“A good investment, yes. The modern art market is soaring, isn’t it?” He was desperate to continue the conversation, but he seemed to be failing miserably. Her – Elizabeth’s – eyes drifted away from him, across the gallery and he followed the direction of her gaze. A man came out of the back, exquisitely dressed in an Armani suit that probably cost more than a month’s take home pay. Hell, the guy’s haircut was a week’s salary, for certain.
“Elizabeth, who do we have here?”
Peter picked up on the momentary expression of distaste. She didn’t like this man. “Sylvester, this is – ” She turned back to him. “I didn’t get your name.”
“Peter Bartle.” He nodded at Elizabeth and before he focused on Mr. Slick, their eyes met again and some understanding passed between them.
“Sylvester Cline, Director of Sales. It’s a pleasure, Mr. Bartle.” Cline shifted, cutting Elizabeth out of the conversation. “What can the Diarmitt do for you?”
They went through the song and dance about the De Kooning again. Cline was polite but skeptical that he was truly interested in the six-figure painting - or if interested, that he could afford it. Peter wasn’t surprised, he wasn’t dressed for the part, but he’d play it out the best he could.
He patted himself down, as if he were looking for something. “I just flew in from Hong Kong this morning and I always take a walk instead of giving in to the jet lag. I’ve found that if I stay awake, it’s easier to adjust to the time difference. Except that obviously my brain isn’t functioning - I think I left my wallet behind.”
“Hong Kong?” Now Sylvester sounded interested.
Peter gave him a bland smile. “My company sent me over to help manage the transition when the colony is handed back to the Chinese. It’s going to be very interesting, if you know what I mean.”
Cline nodded sagely, as if he had a clue. “Difficult times, certainly.”
“But profitable for those who know how to handle things.”
Elizabeth was still hovering in the background, her eyes were sparkling and a smile on her lips.
“Where are you staying, Mr. Bartle?” Cline was still sounding him out.
“Call me Peter, please. The company keeps a fully serviced pied-á-terre for me on Central Park West - easier than a hotel. When you log a few hundred thousand miles of air travel a year, your creature comforts matter.” Peter thought that his answer was particularly inspired, no need to rush to coordinate actual hotel reservations.
“Well, Peter - we’ve had quite a bit of interest in the De Kooning, so if you are looking to purchase it, you’ll need to move quickly.”
Peter looked over at Elizabeth. She had four fingers pointed downward. He felt a surge of triumph, and something else. “Well, Sylvester - the painting’s been here for what, three or four months? So what interest you have can’t be that serious.”
Cline blinked and smiled again, this time a trifle more obsequious. “Perhaps we should discuss your acquisition over dinner? Would you be free tomorrow night?”
“Possibly, but since I had started discussing my purchase with Elizabeth here, she should be included in the invitation.”
Cline was definitely nonplussed. “Ms. Mitchell is an administrative functionary - her presence in the gallery space was simple happenstance. She’s strictly back office.” He turned to Elizabeth, “Which is where she should be now.” She glared at Cline and gave Peter a long, considering look before disappearing into the back of the gallery.
Peter didn’t like Cline before, and he liked him less now. But he couldn’t make an issue of his treatment of the lovely Ms. Mitchell. “I’ll have my assistant contact you about dinner. We can talk details then.”
He turned on his heel and walked briskly out of the gallery, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the bright winter sunshine.
There was a lot to be done, but first things first. He needed to set up surveillance on Elizabeth Mitchell. Of course it was an abuse of Bureau resources, but it would be easy enough to justify the man hours. Someone had dropped an anonymous tip, and he’d bet a week’s worth of deviled ham sandwiches that she was the one who called the FBI.
Ms. Mitchell may not be married, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t dating anyone.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Elizabeth had never seen a transformation quite like the one that Peter Bartle underwent - from just a guy with a hot body in a bad suit to a Master of the Universe in the blink of an eye. She didn’t want to think about her reaction to him when their eyes first met - not here, not now. When she got home and had a little privacy, she’d relive those brief seconds.
She was convinced he was a Fed and regretting saying anything about that to Antonio. She’d have to tell him to keep that quiet. Not that he’d say anything to Sylvester. Antonio hated the man with a passion, and Sylvester treated Antonio like pond scum. But she’d still tell her friend to keep her suspicions about the potential “client” to himself.
It turned out that she didn’t have to tell Antonio anything. Peter Bartle had followed up with Sylvester. They went out to dinner and Cline was arrested the next morning. Peter Bartle was actually Peter Burke, an agent with the FBI’s White Collar division, and Sylvester had been exceedingly indiscreet about helping Peter avoid paying taxes on the purchase of the De Kooning. His whole scheme came crashing down around his ears and they’d all be lucky if the gallery survived the scandal and they all kept their jobs.
It was funny though. As much as she should have been worried about the gallery closing, about ending up on the unemployment line and the possibility of returning to Indiana, Elizabeth couldn’t keep the thought of Peter Burke out of her mind.
Of course, he interviewed her and she admitted to being the one who made the call to the FBI about the tax fraud scheme. It had been a quixotic impulse, but she couldn’t bring herself to regret it. Peter – Agent Burke – was gentle, kind, and courteous when he spoke with her, but he was very clearly an agent of the U.S. Government and had an agenda. He wanted to know about the buyers, particularly the ones she had mentioned in her telephone call, and of course the people at the gallery who were involved.
She cooperated fully and the FBI did their best to keep her name out of everything. But El still worried - she didn’t want to go back to her parents’ home. Maybe that was why she never noticed the utility van that was constantly parked in front of the gallery, her apartment and her favorite Italian restaurant until Antonio pointed it out to her.
She was outside with him, watching the world go by since no one was interested in buying art. Antonio whispered, “Dahling, we’re being watched.”
“Huh?”
“For someone so keenly observant that you picked up that our visitor last week was a Fed just by his shoes, you’ve completely missed the fact the same utility truck has been parked in your vicinity for the last week. And I’m pretty sure I’ve seen that stunning hunk of Federal Agent Man getting into it at least twice.”
El stared at the van. She did seem to remember that it had been parked there for the past few days, and oddly enough, there was no one working in the area, no cones blocking traffic, no open manholes or anything like that. But why? The case was closed; Sylvester Cline and his cohorts had already been arraigned.
She tucked her arm in Antonio’s and casually walked down the block, past the van, and got a good look at the license plate and memorized it. Now aware of the possibilities, Elizabeth noticed the antennas and small satellite dishes on the roof. She wasn’t sure that they weren’t standard equipment, but it didn’t seem that likely.
The next morning, there was a utility van parked up the block from her East Village apartment building and she headed towards it, but it pulled away from the curb before she could get close enough to read the license plate. No van at the gallery when she got to work, but Antonio told her that one had pulled up just as he was walking in, about fifteen minutes late (as usual).
It was there when she went for lunch, and still there as she came back. And not one single utility worker in sight. But she was sure she saw Agent Burke getting into the truck. He didn’t see her, at least she hoped he didn’t. Elizabeth didn’t know what to do - was the gallery still in trouble? Was she in trouble?
Needing to take some sort of action, she fished his card out of her purse and called his cell phone.
“Agent Burke? This is Elizabeth Mitchell - from the Diarmitt Gallery. Do you remember me?” An ambulance, sirens blaring, sped by and El had to smile. Peter was in the van - those same sirens were echoing over the telephone.
He cleared his throat before answering. “Of course, Ms. Mitchell, of course I remember you. You’re unforgettable. I mean that - um - that you were most delightful - um - critical to the case.”
Her grin widened. The man seemed as adorably nervous as he had when they first met, before everything got serious. “I was just wondering …” If you’d like to have dinner with me? “… If the case has been wrapped up, or if you need me to come in again?”
Peter cleared his throat again. “No, no - everything’s ah - good - but …”
She heard someone interrupt him, they sounded like they were arguing. She waited a minute. “Peter?”
“Um, I’m afraid I have to go, Ms. Mitchell.” He abruptly hung up.
El stared at her receiver, not quite believing what just happened. She always understood that life came down to a few moments, and if she let this one pass her by, she’d regret it for the rest of her life.
She took a piece of poster board from the supply closet, borrowed a Sharpie from the art department, and thought hard about what she needed to write. This was going to be the most important message of her life.
FIN
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Elizabeth Mitchell, Peter Burke, OMCs
Spoilers: Pilot, Bad Judgment
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Word Count: ~3000
Beta Credit:
coffeethyme4me Summary: What happened before Peter abused FBI resources and put a lovely assistant manager of a downtown art gallery under surveillance. Or, Peter and Elizabeth meet cute.
A/N: An extra day for my 2012 Fic-Can-Ukah meme, the prompt was “The First Time We Met – Peter/Elizabeth” and written for
aragarna. As a gift for fandom_stocking 2013, Aragarna gave me cover art for this story, which is under the cut. Antonio discreetly pointed out the big guy in the bad suit looking at the Willem De Kooning, the jewel of this particularly show. “Elli, dahling, what do you think?”
They had been playing this game for a year, since she started working at the Diarmitt Gallery. Her title was Assistant Manager, but in truth, Elizabeth Mitchell was nothing more than a glorified gofer, billing clerk and all-around Girl Friday. Sometimes – like today – she helped out in the gallery space. Her father had insisted on a practical major – like accounting, but she minored in art history, so she could hold her own here. Antonio was the personal assistant to the Acquisitions Director, which meant fetching a lot of coffee and pastries and not much else. He joked that he majored in looking pretty and minored in blowjobs, and that was all he needed to get by. As flamboyant as a peacock, Antonio was the best friend a newly minted New Yorker could have.
She looked over the visitor, and even in the bad suit and boring haircut, she could tell he had a good body. “Brooks Brothers, about three years old, probably a year-end close out. Too busy to have the suit tailored properly. From his shoes, I’d say Fed.”
That last bit sent Antonio’s plucked brows skyward and he clutched at a metaphorical strand of pearls. “A Fed? My goodness, what would a Fed want with our precious De Kooning?”
Elizabeth shrugged, playing dumb. “Don’t have the slightest clue.”
“Hmmm, maybe I should ask. He is really kind of hot. Suppose it’s too much to hope that he’d be swinging my way.”
Antonio sashayed over to the guy and El sighed. She adored Antonio; he knew he was a walking, talking cliché and he simply didn’t give a damn. She wished she had just as much self-assurance.
The guy - the possible Fed - didn’t even blink when Antonio approached him, touching his arm, getting deep into his personal space. He smiled and nodded and gave no hint that he was the least bit uncomfortable with her co-worker’s flamboyant behavior. The man asked a question and Antonio smiled and looked over at her. His gaze followed.
For the first time, she got a look at the man’s face. He wasn’t classically handsome, and working in a downtown art gallery frequented by the glitterati, Elizabeth was accustomed to physical perfection walking through the front door. It didn’t have any power over her, at least not since her first month, when she discovered just how ugly so many of the beautiful people behaved. There was something about this man, something that transcended beauty. His face seemed to be made for smiling. He struck her as a man happy with his life, not so much content as comfortable in his skin. Maybe he wasn’t a Fed, but simply someone who appreciated art but liked comfortable shoes and ugly suits. Still, he had a lovely body and she idly wondered what he’d look like in better tailoring. Antonio said something and looked her way.
Their eyes met and all thoughts of men’s clothing fled. Elizabeth couldn’t ever remember having such a visceral reaction to anyone. It was like she was on fire. It wasn’t just sexual. In fact, she wasn’t sure if it was sexual at all. His gaze made her feel complete, as if she belonged with him.
The intensity flared and faded as their gaze broke. The man flushed and looked away. Elizabeth looked down at the stack of invoices she was holding and was about to make a bee-line for her office when Antonio, who saw everything, sauntered back to her.
“Dahling, Mr. Tall, Dark and Badly Dressed wants to talk with you about the De Kooning.” As he passed her, he whispered, “And if you don’t want him, send him my way, ‘kay?”
There were moments in his life that Peter knew he’d never forget. This was one of them. Oh, not getting chatted up by the pretty boy who approached him like he was a cross between a dangerous animal and potential dating material, but the moment he set eyes on the woman standing under the skylight, bathed in a shaft of winter sunshine.
Peter knew many things about himself; chief amongst them was that he was the opposite of a smooth operator. He could discuss anything from the political situation in Bhutan to the effect of last year’s drought on the price of an ice cream cone in Yankee Stadium with strangers, but when it came to making small talk with a beautiful woman, he was useless.
So it was a good thing that he was at the Diarmitt Gallery on official business and he would have a reason to talk to her.
Someone had filed an anonymous tip about an organized effort to dodge sales tax payments. Normally, that would have been turned over to state authorities, but there was a possible mob connection and that meant that OC should have fielded this case. Except that Organized Crime was up to their necks in a flood of heroin trafficking cases and had no interest in such small beans.
Peter could have reminded them that Al Capone was convicted of tax fraud and pushed the case back, but his gut told him to take a walk down to the Diarmitt Gallery and see what was going on.
He was polite to the young gay man trying to ascertain just what he was interested in – the art or him. There was no harm in being nice.
“Can I show you anything in particular?”
Peter gave him a small, almost knowing smile. “The De Kooning is spectacular, one of his later paintings, I believe. I may be going against the popular trend, but I prefer them to his more iconic Women series from the Forties.”
The boy’s eyes glazed over, despite his employment here, he clearly wasn’t an art aficionado. “Maybe you should talk to Elizabeth – ” He tossed his head towards the woman standing in the back of the gallery. “She’s the Assistant Manager.”
Angels may have sounded their trumpets or wept or taken to battle as the Heavenly Host, but he wouldn’t have noticed. The only thing he saw was a pair of beautiful blue eyes, a pert nose and a smile that made his heart beat a little too fast. To his embarrassment, Peter could feel the start of a flop sweat working its way up from the base of his spine. He surreptitiously wiped his damp palm against his trouser leg as she approached.
The woman was even more beautiful up close, and while he’d deny that he had a type, she pushed all his buttons.
“Antonio tells me you’re interested in our De Kooning?”
Peter swallowed and hoped his voice wouldn’t climb back into its pre-pubescent registers. “Yes, um, yes I am, Mrs?” Oh, god. He didn’t believe he just resorted to that old trick.
“It’s Ms., Ms. Elizabeth Mitchell.”
“Well, Ms. Mitchell, I’m quite interested in the painting.”
“You are familiar with the artist?”
“Yes – I was just explaining to your co-worker that I prefer De Kooning’s later works - they are a lot clearer, more graphic. I’m looking to make a new acquisition, and this one has caught my eye.” Peter hadn’t planned on engaging with any of the gallery staff today. He wasn’t at all ready for even such a minor undercover operation. His boss would kill him if he blew this.
“Well, this is a good representation of the series, and would be a superb investment. De Kooning has been very hot.” Her tone was mildly enthusiastic and Peter wondered if she actually liked the artist’s work. It looked like something his six year old niece might have painted.
“A good investment, yes. The modern art market is soaring, isn’t it?” He was desperate to continue the conversation, but he seemed to be failing miserably. Her – Elizabeth’s – eyes drifted away from him, across the gallery and he followed the direction of her gaze. A man came out of the back, exquisitely dressed in an Armani suit that probably cost more than a month’s take home pay. Hell, the guy’s haircut was a week’s salary, for certain.
“Elizabeth, who do we have here?”
Peter picked up on the momentary expression of distaste. She didn’t like this man. “Sylvester, this is – ” She turned back to him. “I didn’t get your name.”
“Peter Bartle.” He nodded at Elizabeth and before he focused on Mr. Slick, their eyes met again and some understanding passed between them.
“Sylvester Cline, Director of Sales. It’s a pleasure, Mr. Bartle.” Cline shifted, cutting Elizabeth out of the conversation. “What can the Diarmitt do for you?”
They went through the song and dance about the De Kooning again. Cline was polite but skeptical that he was truly interested in the six-figure painting - or if interested, that he could afford it. Peter wasn’t surprised, he wasn’t dressed for the part, but he’d play it out the best he could.
He patted himself down, as if he were looking for something. “I just flew in from Hong Kong this morning and I always take a walk instead of giving in to the jet lag. I’ve found that if I stay awake, it’s easier to adjust to the time difference. Except that obviously my brain isn’t functioning - I think I left my wallet behind.”
“Hong Kong?” Now Sylvester sounded interested.
Peter gave him a bland smile. “My company sent me over to help manage the transition when the colony is handed back to the Chinese. It’s going to be very interesting, if you know what I mean.”
Cline nodded sagely, as if he had a clue. “Difficult times, certainly.”
“But profitable for those who know how to handle things.”
Elizabeth was still hovering in the background, her eyes were sparkling and a smile on her lips.
“Where are you staying, Mr. Bartle?” Cline was still sounding him out.
“Call me Peter, please. The company keeps a fully serviced pied-á-terre for me on Central Park West - easier than a hotel. When you log a few hundred thousand miles of air travel a year, your creature comforts matter.” Peter thought that his answer was particularly inspired, no need to rush to coordinate actual hotel reservations.
“Well, Peter - we’ve had quite a bit of interest in the De Kooning, so if you are looking to purchase it, you’ll need to move quickly.”
Peter looked over at Elizabeth. She had four fingers pointed downward. He felt a surge of triumph, and something else. “Well, Sylvester - the painting’s been here for what, three or four months? So what interest you have can’t be that serious.”
Cline blinked and smiled again, this time a trifle more obsequious. “Perhaps we should discuss your acquisition over dinner? Would you be free tomorrow night?”
“Possibly, but since I had started discussing my purchase with Elizabeth here, she should be included in the invitation.”
Cline was definitely nonplussed. “Ms. Mitchell is an administrative functionary - her presence in the gallery space was simple happenstance. She’s strictly back office.” He turned to Elizabeth, “Which is where she should be now.” She glared at Cline and gave Peter a long, considering look before disappearing into the back of the gallery.
Peter didn’t like Cline before, and he liked him less now. But he couldn’t make an issue of his treatment of the lovely Ms. Mitchell. “I’ll have my assistant contact you about dinner. We can talk details then.”
He turned on his heel and walked briskly out of the gallery, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the bright winter sunshine.
There was a lot to be done, but first things first. He needed to set up surveillance on Elizabeth Mitchell. Of course it was an abuse of Bureau resources, but it would be easy enough to justify the man hours. Someone had dropped an anonymous tip, and he’d bet a week’s worth of deviled ham sandwiches that she was the one who called the FBI.
Ms. Mitchell may not be married, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t dating anyone.
Elizabeth had never seen a transformation quite like the one that Peter Bartle underwent - from just a guy with a hot body in a bad suit to a Master of the Universe in the blink of an eye. She didn’t want to think about her reaction to him when their eyes first met - not here, not now. When she got home and had a little privacy, she’d relive those brief seconds.
She was convinced he was a Fed and regretting saying anything about that to Antonio. She’d have to tell him to keep that quiet. Not that he’d say anything to Sylvester. Antonio hated the man with a passion, and Sylvester treated Antonio like pond scum. But she’d still tell her friend to keep her suspicions about the potential “client” to himself.
It turned out that she didn’t have to tell Antonio anything. Peter Bartle had followed up with Sylvester. They went out to dinner and Cline was arrested the next morning. Peter Bartle was actually Peter Burke, an agent with the FBI’s White Collar division, and Sylvester had been exceedingly indiscreet about helping Peter avoid paying taxes on the purchase of the De Kooning. His whole scheme came crashing down around his ears and they’d all be lucky if the gallery survived the scandal and they all kept their jobs.
It was funny though. As much as she should have been worried about the gallery closing, about ending up on the unemployment line and the possibility of returning to Indiana, Elizabeth couldn’t keep the thought of Peter Burke out of her mind.
Of course, he interviewed her and she admitted to being the one who made the call to the FBI about the tax fraud scheme. It had been a quixotic impulse, but she couldn’t bring herself to regret it. Peter – Agent Burke – was gentle, kind, and courteous when he spoke with her, but he was very clearly an agent of the U.S. Government and had an agenda. He wanted to know about the buyers, particularly the ones she had mentioned in her telephone call, and of course the people at the gallery who were involved.
She cooperated fully and the FBI did their best to keep her name out of everything. But El still worried - she didn’t want to go back to her parents’ home. Maybe that was why she never noticed the utility van that was constantly parked in front of the gallery, her apartment and her favorite Italian restaurant until Antonio pointed it out to her.
She was outside with him, watching the world go by since no one was interested in buying art. Antonio whispered, “Dahling, we’re being watched.”
“Huh?”
“For someone so keenly observant that you picked up that our visitor last week was a Fed just by his shoes, you’ve completely missed the fact the same utility truck has been parked in your vicinity for the last week. And I’m pretty sure I’ve seen that stunning hunk of Federal Agent Man getting into it at least twice.”
El stared at the van. She did seem to remember that it had been parked there for the past few days, and oddly enough, there was no one working in the area, no cones blocking traffic, no open manholes or anything like that. But why? The case was closed; Sylvester Cline and his cohorts had already been arraigned.
She tucked her arm in Antonio’s and casually walked down the block, past the van, and got a good look at the license plate and memorized it. Now aware of the possibilities, Elizabeth noticed the antennas and small satellite dishes on the roof. She wasn’t sure that they weren’t standard equipment, but it didn’t seem that likely.
The next morning, there was a utility van parked up the block from her East Village apartment building and she headed towards it, but it pulled away from the curb before she could get close enough to read the license plate. No van at the gallery when she got to work, but Antonio told her that one had pulled up just as he was walking in, about fifteen minutes late (as usual).
It was there when she went for lunch, and still there as she came back. And not one single utility worker in sight. But she was sure she saw Agent Burke getting into the truck. He didn’t see her, at least she hoped he didn’t. Elizabeth didn’t know what to do - was the gallery still in trouble? Was she in trouble?
Needing to take some sort of action, she fished his card out of her purse and called his cell phone.
“Agent Burke? This is Elizabeth Mitchell - from the Diarmitt Gallery. Do you remember me?” An ambulance, sirens blaring, sped by and El had to smile. Peter was in the van - those same sirens were echoing over the telephone.
He cleared his throat before answering. “Of course, Ms. Mitchell, of course I remember you. You’re unforgettable. I mean that - um - that you were most delightful - um - critical to the case.”
Her grin widened. The man seemed as adorably nervous as he had when they first met, before everything got serious. “I was just wondering …” If you’d like to have dinner with me? “… If the case has been wrapped up, or if you need me to come in again?”
Peter cleared his throat again. “No, no - everything’s ah - good - but …”
She heard someone interrupt him, they sounded like they were arguing. She waited a minute. “Peter?”
“Um, I’m afraid I have to go, Ms. Mitchell.” He abruptly hung up.
El stared at her receiver, not quite believing what just happened. She always understood that life came down to a few moments, and if she let this one pass her by, she’d regret it for the rest of her life.
She took a piece of poster board from the supply closet, borrowed a Sharpie from the art department, and thought hard about what she needed to write. This was going to be the most important message of her life.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2012-12-26 02:48 pm (UTC)Awww, this is so wonderful. Thank you :D
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Date: 2012-12-27 03:26 pm (UTC)♥♥♥♥♥♥
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Date: 2012-12-26 03:05 pm (UTC)Thank you so much for writing this ! :-) This is a perfect gift fic. You're fantastic !
Thank you, really ! :-)
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Date: 2012-12-27 03:27 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2012-12-26 03:26 pm (UTC)Love Antonio! What a fantastic OC.
This was a wonderful look at How Peter And El Met, and is now part of my official head canon! :)
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Date: 2012-12-26 03:41 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2012-12-26 03:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-27 03:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-26 04:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-27 03:29 pm (UTC)The prompt seemed made for this pairing at this moment.
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Date: 2012-12-26 04:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-27 03:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-26 04:34 pm (UTC)Antonio. I love him. Did Antonio take over the gallery? He and Elizabeth are still friends, right? It makes me happy to think that he was invited to their wedding, and got just tipsy enough to cut in while El and Peter were dancing -- so he could dance with Peter, and Peter went along without it without hesitation.
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Date: 2012-12-27 03:34 pm (UTC)And yes, I think I definitely need to write some more Antonio - and maybe just that scene. Give me a little bit, kk?
(no subject)
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Date: 2012-12-26 04:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-27 03:35 pm (UTC)I need to figure out just what happenens with Antonio. He needs a little more story, I think.
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Date: 2012-12-26 05:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-27 03:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-26 06:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-27 03:42 pm (UTC)And I'm not done with Antonio - he's not ready to gather dust just yet.
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Date: 2012-12-26 10:57 pm (UTC)Antonio rocks too!
Great story.
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Date: 2012-12-27 03:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-26 11:35 pm (UTC)This is canon as far as I'm concerned. Strong yet adorkable Peter; smart and devious Elizabeth. Forever at first sight.
And of course Antonio -- Wonderful OC.
I love this! :D
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Date: 2012-12-27 03:43 pm (UTC)I'm not quite done with Antonio - he needs just a little more story.
And you honor me with your comment - that I've written your head canon.
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Date: 2012-12-27 12:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-27 03:44 pm (UTC)♥ you for your love for Antonio - a little comment fic on him is in the works.
(no subject)
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Date: 2012-12-27 01:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-27 03:45 pm (UTC)(Haven't seen you around lately - is all well? I've missed you).
(no subject)
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Date: 2012-12-27 02:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-27 03:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-27 02:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-27 03:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-27 04:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-27 03:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-27 04:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-27 04:24 pm (UTC)Awesome El is just, well, awesome.
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Date: 2012-12-27 11:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-27 11:50 pm (UTC)Thank you so very much.
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Date: 2012-12-28 07:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-28 01:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-30 10:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-28 05:42 pm (UTC)This is my head-canon, and I'm sticking to it!
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Date: 2012-12-31 08:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-28 05:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-08-17 04:58 am (UTC)