Chapter Text
Neal Caffrey was carefully contouring the black bow tie on the pristine white shirt of his Ralph Lauren tuxedo. “Those glad rags were pricey,” Mozzie complained as he stared at his criminal partner’s image in the full length mirror. “I can’t fathom why you needed a penguin suit that costs $3,000. A simple prom tux would have done the same job.”
Neal smiled indulgently, “People judge, Moz, and the ritzy crowd I’m going to be rubbing elbows with tonight are pretentious California snobs who can spot an ersatz wanna-be in the blink of an eye. Someone once told me to dress as the person I aspire to be rather than who I really am.”
Mozzie snorted. “Yeah, and that guy was Vincent Adler who screwed with your head and made us paupers. Now we have to go slinking around to scrounge up enough fencible stuff to keep ourselves in Ramen noodles.”
“Our situation isn’t that dire, Oliver Twist,” Neal objected.
Mozzie heaved a disgusted sigh. “Look, Neal, no matter who you look like on the outside, you’re still a sneak thief on the inside. Keep your head out of the clouds and your mind on the prize. Those little trinkets that Von Hayes has in his collection are priceless, mon frère. Since he likes to flaunt his wealth, I’m betting they’re displayed somewhere right out in the open. You just have to sneak away from his birthday gala and find out where.”
The “trinkets” to which Mozzie was referring were very esoteric and rare. They were part of a very wealthy man’s assortment of antique 16th century Ottoman memorabilia that included a large gold Turkish coin fashioned into a necklace, which a long-ago sultan had gifted to his favorite wife in his harem. She was one lucky lady because other items included a bejeweled ring, several ruby-studded bracelets, and a belt made out of ivory with a buckle encrusted with diamonds.
“Everything is small enough to stuff in your pockets except for the belt. Just remove the buckle from the ivory and then you can hide that gaudy sparkler away as well,” Mozzie advised.
“Got it, Moz!” Neal said impatiently. “I know what I’m doing. You just make sure you’re waiting in the wings when I pass them off to you. Then you can make yourself scarce through the kitchen exit and disappear into the night.”
“Not a problem,” Mozzie assured his partner in crime. “As a lowly catering servant, I’ll practically be invisible to the hoity-toity guests. I’ll constantly be going back and forth to the kitchen to replenish my tray of little canapes, and after we do the swap, I’ll make like a ghost and fade away.”
~~~~~~~~~~
A few hours later, Chuck Bartowski, the CIA’s most valuable asset, thanks to a complicated download of clandestine intel embedded in his brain, snagged another bottle of Lafite Rothschild from the bar where Casey was dispensing drinks with calm efficiency. Tonight Chuck’s mission, as dictated by General Beckman, was to blend in with the crowd near Von Hayes, a very nefarious character. The Agency had heard chatter that the wealthy mogul was in possession of a microchip containing the identities of all the ‘good guy’ spies throughout the world and was planning on selling it to an agent of an evil cabal named "Fulcrum" for fifteen million dollars.
Tonight, Chuck’s backup included NSA agent Major John Casey, as well as Bryce Larkin and Sarah Walker, who were pretending to be a married couple named Anderson, a cover they had used in the past in South America. Bryce and Sarah together always made Chuck twitchy. They were just so, well, beautiful together, like two separate parts that only made sense when they were joined as a whole. That made lovesick Chuck a tad jealous, but Bryce was handsome, smart, and debonair, so getting the girl was always a cinch for him in college, and, apparently beyond the walls of academia. Chuck knew he was just your average nerd, if you didn’t factor in that accidental download into his brain called “The Intersect.” He didn’t fool himself that he had the right moves in the romance department. Sarah only stuck by his side because her mission was to protect him.
Chuck tugged down his black vest and shot the cuffs on the starched white shirt of his server’s outfit before picking up the full wine bottle and beginning to meander towards the target seated at a table with some friends. After he had taken just a few steps, he almost collided with Bryce, looking sophisticated and chic in his tux. Chuck was confused because the timing was off. “Bryce, where’s Sarah?” the Intersect said out of the corner of his mouth. “You were supposed to arrive together as a couple.”
The suave tuxedoed man whirled towards the lanky, tall guy with a tray in his hands and his expression was beyond shocked. “Chuck?” he murmured in surprise.
“Yeah, Bryce, it’s me doing what the General told me to do,” Chuck hurriedly whispered. “Now, you tell me what’s going on. Was there a change in the plan and nobody was considerate enough to tell me?”
“Chuck … Chuck Bartowski?” Neal murmured in dazed disbelief. “Damn, I guess the world is really smaller than what I thought. I also thought we got past all that ‘Bryce’ malarkey over a year ago in New York. You told me that Larkin, my doppelganger, was dead because dumb schmuck Casey had killed him.”
“No, no,” Chuck stuttered nervously as he realized he was talking to Neal Caffrey rather than Bryce Larkin. “Bryce isn’t dead. He came back like Lazarus from the great beyond and now he’s working missions for us.”
“Us?” Neal challenged.
“Yeah, ‘us,’ as in the good guys,” Chuck smiled tentatively.
“I think that ‘good guys’ thing is an issue for a later debate,” Neal said drolly. “You spy people give me the heebie-jeebies, justifying your nefarious actions by claiming it’s all done for the greater good.”
“It is!” Chuck said with a decisive nod of his head. “And right now you’re right in the middle of an important op so you should leave right away.”
“And just maybe I’m in the middle of my own important op and don’t want to leave,” Neal challenged.
“I could tell Casey,” Chuck threatened. “He’s right over there behind the bar.”
Neal rolled his eyes. “Oh, goody, now the whole band’s back together again! If this Bryce Larkin guy turns up, it’ll be twice the fun for Casey because now there’s two of us he can try to kill.”
“No, Casey and Bryce have reached a state of détente because Bryce really wasn’t a rogue agent after all. It was all a misunderstanding,” Chuck said as if that made all kinds of sense to Neal.
“How nice for them,” the con man/thief sneered. “That just makes me the odd man out, and an ugly giant ogre over there is gonna be out for payback!”
Just then, Chuck caught sight of the real Bryce and lovely Sarah swanning into the ballroom through an archway across the room. He quickly grabbed Neal’s arm. The nerd made a point of jerking his head in the direction of the new arrivals for Neal’s benefit. As expected, seeing was believing, and a stunned con man heard himself murmuring, “What the hell?”
“Look, I don’t know how to handle this little snafu,” Chuck babbled. “It’s above my paygrade, so can you make yourself scarce temporarily while I confer with my handlers? Please, please, Neal. Maybe just hang out in the men’s room for a few minutes,” he pleaded.
“You’ve got just ten precious minutes, and not a second longer,” Neal growled as he turned to leave the room by an adjacent blind hallway.
Chuck breathed a sigh of relief and used the reprieve to quickly move towards Bryce and Sarah. “Mayday, Mayday!” he said under his breath as he hovered beside the couple. “There’s a potential problem and he’s in the men’s room.”
Bryce and Sarah exchanged a look. “I’ll handle this, Mrs. Anderson,” Bryce said confidently. “You stay here and keep an eye on Von Hayes. Maybe Chuck can get close to the target and flash on where he may have that microchip.”
And that’s exactly what happened when Chuck, wine bottle in hand, meandered by and leaned in to refill the birthday boy’s glass flute. Suddenly, he glommed onto a keyring on the man’s belt loop, and the Intersect could clearly see the outline of an electronic piece of equipment disguised as a key fob. So, okay, the first part of the mission was accomplished. Chuck sincerely hoped that Bryce and Neal could come to a meeting of the minds so the op could be completed. Unfortunately, that wasn’t quite the scenario unfolding in the men’s bathroom at the moment.
An uninformed Bryce Larkin, expecting some evil goon to be inside, had kicked open the door to the bathroom and swung around with a gun in his hand. He was stopped short when he found himself staring at a very familiar face leaning against a sink with his arms folded across his chest. Neal was suddenly as startled as the CIA spy and found his own jaw dropping in stunned amazement.
“Wow, I think my Mama forgot to fill me in on a few details about my birth, or maybe I should say, our birth,” Neal whispered.
Bryce looked dumbfounded as well. “I know they briefed me about this startling phenomenon,” he said in wonder as he lowered his weapon, “but actually seeing my doppelganger in the flesh is sort of unnerving.”
“So, it seems that I really do have a twin,” Neal drawled. “Do you think the world can withstand two of us wandering around creating our own brand of mayhem?”
“I don’t create mayhem,” Bryce objected. “I’m responsible for restoring order out of chaos. And, FYI, we are not related. We have different DNA so it’s just nature’s idea of a really sick joke.”
Neal snorted. “Well, since you say you’ve been briefed about me, then you know all the good, the bad, and the ugly stuff like I’m a forger and a thief. But I’ve had firsthand experience with government spooks, as well. And I’ve concluded that you and the people you work for are only kidding yourselves about being the good guys.”
“That’s a little judgy,” Bryce smirked.
“Just calling it like I see it,” Neal said haughtily, “and what I see right in front of me is weirding me out. You’re actually wearing an identical Ralph Lauren tux, your hair is parted on the same side as mine, and I’m even catching a whiff of Bvlgari cologne, the same scent I used tonight.”
Bryce decided to play the game. “Favorite color?”
“Blue,” Neal quickly answered.
“Ditto,” Bryce echoed.
“Chocolate or vanilla ice cream?” Neal challenged.
“Is that even a decision? Chocolate all the way,” Bryce answered as Neal nodded in agreement.
“Favorite movie—Goldfinger or The Thomas Crown Affair?” was Bryce’s next question.
“The Thomas Crown Affair, for obvious reasons,” Neal drawled, “although, considering our current professions, you’d probably prefer a James Bond classic.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s an occupational hazard,” Bryce agreed. “Now about our current job status,” he continued to muse thoughtfully, “how about you tell me why you’re here. I’m guessing it’s to steal something from our host.”
“And that’s more than likely why you’re here as well, although you’ll try to spin that little lark as noble and patriotic,” Neal mocked.
“Well, my mission does entail national security so it trumps a mundane theft,” Bryce claimed smugly. “And, obviously, having two of us in the same place at the same time is going to create problems, so you’ll have to hit the road by a back door minus whatever you intended to pilfer.”
Before the argument could escalate, the door to the bathroom creaked open. Bryce swung around with his gun again at the ready. Mozzie didn’t readily see the danger as he blithely strolled in mumbling, “Neal, why are you lurking in here?” When Neal’s partner in crime finally managed to take in an unbelievable sight, his jaw dropped and his hand flew to his head dislodging his toupee. “Sweet Mother Teresa! They’ve finally done it! The evil government consortium has managed to create clones!”
“Take it easy, Moz, before you have a coronary,” one of the identical men begged. “This is Bryce Larkin and he’s not a clone or my evil twin. He’s just an obnoxious government spy who happens to look a lot like me.”
“Either all the wine that I’ve imbibed over the years has finally disrupted my brain circuitry, or I’ve managed to step into the fourth dimension. Either way, it’s really frightening,” the little bald man whispered.
Just then, an impatient Casey barged in, scanned the occupants in the small room, and actually snarled, “Well, this is interesting. Now I can take care of some unfinished business after I figure out which one of you made a fool out of me in Greece last year. I never forget the ones that managed to get away, so I’m going to kill the dude named Neal Caffrey before I leave this room.”
“Shut up, Casey!” both Neal and Bryce said in perfect unison, making Mozzie moan and Casey growl.
Just then, an innocent party guest tried to enter the men’s room. Casey immediately grabbed him by the arm, twirled the surprised man around, and shoved him out the door with a gruff, “private party goin’ on, dude.”
“Yeah, and we need to break up this little reunion,” Neal said impatiently. “I have work to do.”
“So do I,” Bryce insisted.
The standoff continued with two identical handsome men trying to stare each other down. “So, an impasse,” Neal drawled. “Neither one of us is leaving before we get what we came for. Maybe, if we work together, we can both win.”
Just at that moment, Chuck stumbled into the bathroom, late to the party, as usual. He glanced from face to face and said timidly, “I see everybody has gotten acquainted, so I guess that’s a good thing? I’m Chuck, by the way,” he said politely to Mozzie as he held out his hand.
Mozzie simply ignored the newcomer because he was still staring in shocked fascination at the unbelievable tableau assembled in the small space.
“We’re still working out some issues,” Bryce said mildly.
“Well, maybe I can help,” Chuck insisted. “I know where the microchip is. It’s disguised as a key fob hanging on Von Hayes’ belt.”
Neal shook his head in disgust. “You people and your microdots and microchips are really getting beyond boring. You ought to broaden your horizons from time to time. There are more exciting things to get your hands on in this world where we live.”
Bryce chose to ignore the putdown, “So, now you know my agenda,” he said cynically. “What’s ours?”
Neal narrowed his eyes, calculated the odds of being truthful, then came to a swift decision. “I’m after some very old and precious Ottoman artifacts that Von Hayes has stashed somewhere in this mansion,” the con man finally deigned to answer honestly.
“Maybe we can work together,” Bryce replied thoughtfully. “Casey actually admitted that personal experience has taught him that you’re quite a proficient pickpocket. So, do you think you can get the key fob without Hayes realizing that you lifted it?”
“I’m insulted that you even felt it necessary to ask,” Neal mocked. “Now, can I assume that you’re culturally educated enough to recognize Ottoman artifacts when you see them? I’ll give you a leg up. I can provide pictures of them on my phone if you need visual aids.”
“How sporting of you,” Bryce muttered. “So, do we do this or not?”
Much to Casey and Mozzie’s horror, a pact was sealed, leaving only Chuck looking happy and upbeat.