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It was an unprecedented attack. Afterwards, Peter would wonder just how the traffickers had managed to get as far as they did. The FBI high command was in a tizzy, with committees forming to investigate how everything happened and to upgrade security so it couldn't happen again. The only reason things weren't worse for the FBI was Neal.
First, the power went out. The windows let in plenty of light, but everyone in the office still blinked and looked around in confusion at each other and the lights. Several agents groaned in audible frustration at losing their unsaved progress or being denied access to video footage or documents they were investigating. Neal, whose work was entirely on paper unless he had been called over to advise on a suspect in security cam footage, was largely unaffected by the sudden loss of computer access, but he looked around in confusion just the same.
Then the air conditioner vents, whose subtle background humming had ceased just the same as anything else relying on electricity, started leaking gas. Unnoticed at first, in the dark and the confusion, the gas spread throughout the bullpen and the offices until the smell and the visible thickness of it drew alarmed shouts. Peter yanked himself out of his office when he noticed his air vent coughing out the gray mist and slapped his hand over his mouth and nose in a rudimentary attempt to avoid breathing the suspicious substance in.
One agent ran to the elevator, but it didn't work at all as was expected. Diana and Clinton exchanged looks and bolted to the stairwell doors on opposite ends of the floor.
"Locked!" Diana called from where she futilely yanked on her door handle.
"Same!" Clinton yelled back.
"Anyone have a lockpick? Allegedly, that would be a useful skill for someone in my alleged field to have," Neal said, hurrying to the nearest stair access.
Diana, who was at that door, shook her head. "There's no keyhole. I don't know how it's locked at all! It's an emergency exit!"
"Jones, here let me-" Agent Jeremy Brown hurried to Clinton's door.
"Back up!" Clinton barked.
"Asshole, I'm just saying I can do something!" Brown snarled back.
"Oh, so I'm incompetent!"
Peter stumbled down the staircase into the bullpen proper. Hughes and two agents who had been in the conference room following in his wake.
"Jones! Brown!" Hughes snapped authoritatively. "Break it up! You are trained agents, don't lose your heads."
The two agents stepped away from each other, clenching fists to regain control of themselves.
Agent Andrea Sanchez had her scarf over her mouth and was also frantically waving herself with a sheaf of paperwork. "Sir," she hailed. "This isn't knockout gas."
Agent Phil Beckham stumbled over to lean on a desk next to her. "Agreed," he panted. "Feels like heat. Just got off heat leave; this sucks."
Other agents near enough to hear agreed or disagreed based off their designation. Beta Agent Margery Bleu protested that she couldn't get heat, so a heat inducer shouldn't be affecting her like it seemed to be. Alpha Agent Lavanya Sahni and probie Andrew Chang said things felt like the early stages of rut packed into a fifteen minute timeframe, which Clinton and Brown sheepishly agreed with. Peter didn't voice anything, but he felt very horny himself. He found himself wishing El was nearby so they could sneak away and he swiftly chastised himself. What was he, a teenage boy with no notion of the danger they were all in?
"So, here's the plan," Peter said loudly, drawing all the agents (and CI) together. "Everyone separate based on how affected you are. Don't play the hero, don't act tough. This is obviously an all-around aphrodisiac of some kind and we do not need any incidents. Milds stay in the bullpen."
Hughes nodded at him, the SAC throwing his support behind Peter's plan. With a sharp noise (he was too professional for a growl), Hughes led the way for alphas to lock themselves in various interrogation rooms, observation rooms, and holding cells. Diana did the same for omegas up to the second floor offices and conference rooms, the lot of them grabbing their blankets, jackets, and even some of their office chairs to take with them. Everyone divided into the available spaces based on if they could stand a coworker being in the same room as themselves or not. Peter stayed in the bullpen with the majority of the betas (a small few hurried into isolation since they swung strongly one way or the other under the influence of the gas), Brown (who reported his ruts were generally mild enough he sometimes worked in the office straight through with nothing except irritability to give away the goose and volunteered to guard the hallway to the sectioned off aggressive agents), and Neal (whose drug-induced heat flushed his face but otherwise didn't appear to bother him).
After setting those who remained to work trying to stop-up the vents (whose gaseous payload was probably already delivered since only thin tendrils of mist were leaking from them now) and break down the stairwell doors, and after assigning one agent to try everyone's desk phones to get help, Peter walked over to Neal.
"Are you sure you don't want to head upstairs? You were supposed to go on heat leave in two days," Peter asked, concerned.
"I'll be alright for now, Peter," Neal assured. "I'm more concerned about-"
The closest stairwell door burst open, knocking the two probies with an improvised office-chair-battering-ram back, and discharged not emergency personnel but people wearing black tactical gear and gas masks.
"Grab them," one of the masked men ordered. "You resist, you get shot!" he threatened the bullpen.
"Get down!" Peter yelled when he saw the guns in their hands.
FBI agents dove for cover but Neal did not.
Their non-violent CI snarled and launched himself at the infiltrators in a neat flip. He landed by the speaker and smoothly transition to a roundhouse kick, sending the apparent leader to the floor. He cartwheeled to the side, avoiding a burst of gunfire (tranquilizer guns, Peter noticed, horrified and relieved at the same time - who were these people?! they were on the 21st floor of the New York FBI building with gas masks and tranquilizer guns obviously intent on drugging and abducting federal agents!) and slammed another assailant harshly into a desk. Neal grabbed two staplers off that desk and pegged two more masked intruders in their heads with startling accuracy, knocking them both out.
Peter stared, mouth agape at the martial skill Neal apparently had or was improvising, using acrobatic maneuvers to avoid capture and disorient the assailants enough to slam them into walls, desks, bookshelves, the floor, and each other until fifteen men and women in full tactical gear lay strewn across bullpen and staircase landing. It hadn't even been five minutes! When Neal stopped, he was panting hard and still had a snarl on his face.
Peter shook himself out of his shock. "Get these people tied up," he ordered the other stunned agents in the room. They blinked or otherwise jolted themselves back into the present moment and hurried forward. One probie got within a few feet of Neal and suddenly drew back, gesturing frantically to Peter.
Peter carefully stepped over downed people and displaced office paraphernalia to his CI. When he got close enough, he knew why the probie had drawn back. Neal was growling softly, sounding near feral.
"Neal?" Peter prompted cautiously. "You alright there?"
Neal shook himself and the growl petered out. He turned to Peter and, while his eyebrow briefly spasmed, had managed to smooth the snarl off his face. Peter studied his CI and noticed the blown-wide pupils, the sweat beading at his hairline. But he wasn't trembling and his breathing was quickly brought back under control as well. It was hard to tell how strong Neal's heat was, with these conflicting signs. Neal had acted like he was guarding a nest when he threw himself heedlessly into danger, but he was still coherent and obviously had his mental faculties so that couldn't have been the explanation...
"Neal?"
"I'm good, Peter," Neal said.
"Alright," Peter nodded after a moment. He resolved to keep a closer eye on Neal. If things got any worse, he would have to isolate him. If Neal's subconscious had decided the office was his nest and everyone in it his charges, the odds were he'd attack anyone who entered as threats, including emergency personnel.
"Sir," Agent Bleu called from where she was divesting attackers of their weapons. "The phones work but are full of static - like a busy line - and my cell doesn't have service." Why was she telling him about phones- oh right, she'd been tasked with trying to find a line out of the office for assistance. They needed to call for help to ensure help actually arrived. Peter dragged his mind back on task.
"A signal jammer?" Peter asked darkly. "These people were way too prepared."
"Where do we put them? Our guys are in the holding cells for everyone's safety," Bleu asked. The other agents also looked over for guidance. Agent Brown, still at the door to the other alphas, waited for Peter's word as well.
"Well..." Peter needed to think but the stupid drug was muddling his mind, the clarity provided by the adrenaline rush of having armed assailants in the office already wearing off. Neal sauntering over to an office phone further distracted him - there was far too much slink in that walk to be anything but suspicious. The CI picked up the receiver and started dialing.
"Neal, the phones have been jammed-" Peter started but stopped when Neal hit another series of buttons - not another phone number, there were too few digits for that - wait had he managed to get through?
Neal's body language shifted to something alluring Peter had seen during a op once, when he was seducing someone for information. "Alpha" he purred into the receiver, low and sultry, "I have a situation." He packed so much lust into those few words half the agents in earshot shivered involuntarily.
Neal managed to get through the jamming and was making a booty call!? Peter was briefly distracted thinking about when he and El were still dating and they'd invite each other over - he wished he could call El. He shook his head to clear it just in time to hear Neal say: "Gotta 24-delta. ... Mmhmmm. ... See ya soon."
"Neal, what are you-" Peter started, indignant.
"We should put them in the supply closet. Should be big enough if we pile them on top of each other and the door opens outwards so we can barricade it," Neal suggested, ignoring Peter. He put action to words, not waiting for anyone's agreement, and grabbed two now unarmed assailants by their bound wrists and dragged them down the hallway in a surprising display of strength.
Peter pursed his lips and took a deep breath to get his annoyance under control. Then he motioned to the other agents to follow Neal's lead and headed over to the phone Neal had used. Perhaps he could call out too.
Minutes later, Peter was talking to the front desk and explaining the situation. Apparently the entire building had lost power but no one else had reported being gassed. Security teams were now going to be organized to search each floor to make sure that was the case and a headcount was going to be done.
Then the stairwell door burst open again. All the agents present drew their guns and pointed them at the door, just in case this was round two of armed attackers looking to kidnap federal agents. They all paused though at the sight of the silver-accented red suit of The Flash.
"Whew!" he said, and waved his hand in front of his nose. The action seemed more joking than disgusted though. "This whole office is gonna have to be aired if anyone wants to get any work done. Smells like UST."
"Uh" Peter sputtered inelegantly. It wasn't every day that white collar agents met a member of the Justice League. "I-I guess it does."
"Sitrep?" The Flash asked with a smile.
"Right, uh, most of our agents are denned up. We have some culprits, the ones who came to tranq and abduct us, locked in the supply closet. Though I doubt the mastermind came with them to assault the FBI."
"Glad no one's hurt!" Flash said cheerily. "Now then, where's-"
"Alpha," Neal cooed, suddenly behind The Flash. Peter hadn't even seen him reenter the room.
"I'm so sorry about him-!" Peter started forward, intending to get his heat-addled CI locked upstairs with Diana and the other omegas. He cursed himself for not doing it earlier when he'd thought about it. Neal would be fine in Peter's office where Diana had placed herself out of consideration for her colleagues. She was only interested in fellow female omegas and Peter would be disturbing far fewer people if he opened that door instead of the conference room one.
But Flash held up a hand, waving Peter off. "Damn you are deep in it, huh?" Flash said, apparently unoffended by Neal sidling up against him.
Neal brought a hand up to Flash's face, not touching but hovering along his jawline. "Gonna take care of me, babe?" he asked in a lusty purr.
The Flash never lost his smile, though it gained a more smirk-like quality. "You are gonna be so pissed once you're out of heat and your brain's back online."
Peter's brow furrowed. They seemed faaar too familiar with each other, though that could just be Flash's friendly banter and Neal's heat-addled flirting. He supposed he should be glad Neal hadn't pegged Flash as another threat to be taken down because that encounter would not have gone in Neal's favor. But Peter was an investigator so he asked: "Do you know each other?"
Flash turned back to him, smile bright. "Sure," he said. He waved a hand. "Let's just say, we met on the job."
Peter barely held back a groan, while Agent Bleu, returned from barricading the supply closet, stifled a snort and a probie gaped. Of course a highly successful conman and thief like Neal Caffrey would have come across a hero or two in his career. And of course he never mentioned it.
"He's quite the 'mega, your CI," Flash continued. "Talking and walking at this stage of heat. Bet he growled at those attackers too - always was uncharacteristically aggressive to any threat while in heat."
Oh no, The Flash has seen Neal in heat before.
Oh no, Flash wasn't being growled at as a potential threat.
Neal made another soft omegan croon at Flash, pressing himself closer. Accommodatingly, The Flash lifted an arm and allowed Neal to tuck himself against his side.
Oh no Flash has been with Neal in heat before.
"If it's alright with you, Agent Burke, I'll go ahead and take Mr Caffrey here home, before he starts getting pissy about the lack of a nest. Then we can see about getting everyone else settled as well," Flash suggested.
Still stunned by his conclusion that Neal and The Flash had been intimate at some point, Peter just nodded dumbly. Not even a full second later both were gone.