sam_storyteller (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sam_storyteller) wrote2011-02-07 12:05 pm
sam_storyteller) wrote2011-02-07 12:05 pm
Entry tags:
Neal Caffrey Versus The BBC
Title: Neal Caffrey Versus The BBC
Rating: PG
Warnings: None.
Summary: Neal has a lead on a priceless work of art he wants to recover, and he needs Peter's help.
Notes: This came about as a result of what was actually an Ocean's Eleven reference but could so easily have been a Blake's Seven reference, if Neal Caffrey were a closet fan of classic Beeb scifi.
BETA CREDIT, JESUS:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
spiderine, tzikeh, neifile7, and girlpearl (who is responsible for inspiring the manip. BLAME HER.)
Now available at AO3!
Also now there is illustration! See Jenna's sketch of the cosplayers here.
And a podfic! Recorded bycirclette and available for download here.
The problem with checking Neal's tracking data at the end of the day, Peter reflected, was that he'd already gotten into all the trouble he possibly could during that day. On the other hand, keeping Neal's map up in realtime on his phone was a little creepy, and tended to run down the battery.
It was a Saturday, and really Peter should be at home with Elizabeth, and was in fact planning to be -- as soon as he checked in on Neal. Because Neal had spent all day at a convention center downtown, a convention center currently hosting two things: the New York Comic Con, and the Bright Empire Gem Show. And Peter knew the kind of havoc Neal could wreak at a gem show.
So he was sitting in Neal's apartment, waiting for him to arrive. As soon as he'd shaken Neal down, found whatever gems he'd stolen or what his plan was to steal them, and scolded him into submission, he'd go home.
"It's like having a kid," he'd grumbled to Elizabeth.
"Make sure he washes behind his ears," she'd told him, and kissed him and sent him off after securing a promise that he'd be back for dinner.
His phone beeped; Neal was within twenty yards. Peter crossed his arms and sat back in the chair, patient.
Mozzie walked in first. He was wearing a long blue military-style coat, a spiky brown hairpiece, and what looked like suspenders over an oxford shirt. Peter stared, but not as hard as he stared at Neal when he appeared in the doorway behind him.
"Seriously, I know I have a reduced expectation of privacy, but you could text," Neal said, looking annoyed.
"What are you wearing?" Peter asked. Neal looked down at his clothing. "Is that a bow tie?"
"Bow ties are cool, Peter," Neal informed him. For some reason Mozzie found this hilarious. "I don't actually have to explain my fashion choices to you," Neal continued, closing the door and shedding the tweed coat he was wearing. It didn't help; the shirt he wore underneath was a sort of light pastel pink button-down, crisscrossed by suspenders holding up a pair of narrow-legged trousers over combat boots. His hair was...strange.
Peter rubbed his eyes. "What's the con?"
Neal shook his head. "No con."
"You're in some kind of costume, Neal. What's the con?" Peter insisted. Neal pulled off the bow tie and turned, leaning against the edge of the table.
"Honestly, I swear on Elizabeth's honor, there is no con," he said. "You can check my an -- you did check my anklet. That's why you're here."
Peter nodded.
"Then you will know I was at the Javits Convention Center all day," Neal said. "It's in my radius."
"What were you doing at the Javits?" Peter asked.
"Helping out a friend," Neal replied. "What, I can't freelance? Man's gotta eat, Peter."
Peter gave him a suspicious glare. "At a gem show?"
Neal and Mozzie exchanged a look. "Mozzie likes gems," Neal said finally.
Peter frowned. "On Elizabeth's honor, huh?"
Neal held up a hand, as if he were taking an oath. "I promise I did nothing illegal today. Neither did Mozzie, he was with me." He smiled. "Did you come all the way from Brooklyn just to check up on me? Peter, that's sweet, in a psychotic kind of way."
"Mostly psychotic!" Mozzie called.
"Thought I might have to bail you out," Peter grumbled, though he couldn't put his heart into it; Mozzie had taken off his wig, and the velcro stuck to his scalp was distracting.
"You want to stay for dinner? I think we're getting Indian," Neal offered. "Listen, either get your heart rate down now or handcuff me, because otherwise I'm going back to the convention center tomorrow."
"Would that I could," Peter sighed. "House arrest would make minding you so much easier."
"But not nearly as much fun," Neal answered, grinning. Behind them, Mozzie ducked into the closet to hang up the strange military coat. "Okay. I know the Bright Empire show is going on, and I know I don't have the best reputation when it comes to gems. But I promise I didn't steal any today, and I won't tomorrow."
Peter gave him a stern look. "I'm trusting your word."
"It's good," Neal said. "Go home and bother your wife, Peter, I'm sticking on the straight and narrow."
"Regrettably," Mozzie said, emerging.
Peter left, though he gave Neal's clothing one last look first.
Seriously, suspenders?
***
"Okay, I have a question for you," Neal said on Monday, and the reason he was treating Peter to lunch at a steakhouse suddenly became clear.
"Whatever it is, the answer's no," Peter replied.
"It's a hypothetical," Neal said, looking hurt. He sipped his water. "Just hear me out."
"Do you not understand the meaning of no?" Peter asked, leaning back, not terribly concerned. "I know the word in several languages. Did you know the Romans didn't even have a word for 'yes'?"
"Did you know the Romans used frescoes of genitalia to ward off evil?" Neal shot back.
"Is that germane?" Peter said mildly. "They had no word for please, either."
Neal rolled his eyes. "Please, Peter, will you listen to my hypothetical situation?"
Peter narrowed his eyes, decided Neal had earned it, and gestured for him to continue.
"Say I had a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to recover a one-of-a-kind cultural artifact," Neal said.
"Recover."
"Steal, okay, happy?" Neal sighed. "A work of art we only have images of. A work of art that was originally intended for public consumption. The problem is that this work of art was mistakenly disposed of, and the man who now owns it retrieved it from the trash."
"That's legal."
"But he's keeping it hidden," Neal persisted.
"Still legal," Peter sipped his beer.
"Okay, but say I knew where it was and could smuggle it out and make an -- "
"No," Peter said.
" -- authenticated copy," Neal finished, "and then put it back."
Peter leaned forward. "Are we talking about a painting, here? Is it Garçon à la Pipe?" he asked in a hushed tone.
"Why, do you know where it is?" Neal asked, leaning forward too.
"Wha -- no, that's the point, nobody knows where it is," Peter said. "And you can't steal a painting, copy it, and put it back."
"But copying it is legal, right?" Neal said. "If it's an acknowledged copy. So if I stole this...object, that's -- "
"B&E and Grand Theft, plus Fraud if you do it right," Peter said drily. "Returning it is B&E and Trespass, plus Concealment."
Neal gave him a daredevil grin. "What if you confiscated the object?"
"Then it's theft of federal evidence."
"But it's not. Peter, what if you confiscate this object in a search, it never leaves the evidence lockup, and then you return it?"
"Are you suborning misuse of federal law?" Peter asked.
"I wouldn't call it that," Neal said thoughtfully. "I'd call it taking advantage of a loophole."
"Neal..." Peter rubbed his eyes.
"Look, over the weekend I may have heard chatter about some smuggling going on," Neal said. "Small-time stuff, imports from Japan. But coming in with one of the shipments is a container with a priceless work of art in it. All I want is the chance to make a copy, Peter."
"You're going to tell me all about this smuggling you heard about," Peter said, returning to his steak. "Then you're going to help me make a bust, if I think a bust is necessary, and then we'll see about this copy you want to make."
Neal's grin was blinding. "I promise, Peter, this will be a feather in your cap."
"It had better be a whole headdress," Peter told him.
***
Peter was less than impressed by the cargo that Neal said was being smuggled -- it wasn't gems, which he supposed was just as well, but on the other hand...it wasn't gems. Pirated Japanese video games left something to be desired in the "impressive" department. Not that confiscating smuggled, pirated video games wasn't part of his job, it just wasn't as...well, as sexy, as gem smuggling.
The container Neal had tipped them off about was a standard wheeled luggage bag, large but not ostentatiously so. Peter had no idea how it had made it past customs on the Japanese end. On the New York side, the plan was apparently bribery; baggage handlers didn't make a lot of money. Peter and Jones busted the smuggler and two airport staff with cash in hand, while Diana and Neal hauled the bag over to an examination area and opened it up.
In a hidden compartment under the lining of the interior -- and in two further hidden compartments in the wheels themselves -- they found flashdrives, each labeled in Japanese and English with a game title. Burned to discs and distributed, they could be worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. Diana, examining one of them in a laptop, was the one who caught onto the fact that two of the seven flashdrives were games that hadn't even been released yet.
Neal was still going through the suitcase when Peter came over to him. "Find this cultural artifact you were looking for?" he asked.
"Not yet," Neal said, running a hand over the back of the suitcase. "Getting there. He couldn't take it in carry-on, the x-rays...aha," he added, before he could get any further with the thought, and opened the suitcase again. The top of the bag was ever-so-slightly domed, but the interior was flat. Neal tugged and the top came free. A handful of small tin canisters tumbled out.
"What the hell are those?" Peter asked, picking one of them up. It was smooth metal and oblong, like an oversized blunt-nosed bullet.
Neal took it out of his hand and carried his treasure over to the darkest corner of the room, unscrewing the top from one of the canisters. Peter peered over his shoulder.
"Film reel?" he said. "Jesus, Neal, what is this, the Cold War?"
Neal grinned. "Better. Are you confiscating everything?"
"Yep, till we can get this sorted out it all goes to evidence," Peter sighed.
"I'll bag and tag these. Diana can watch me, I promise not to steal them," Neal said, when he saw Peter's expression. "Then we need to talk."
"No, then we need to do a whole lot of paperwork and get on the phone with Interpol, and then we need to talk," Peter said. Neal looked annoyed, but it only lasted a second before he pasted a smile back on his face.
"I'll bring dinner," he said cheerfully.
***
By the time Peter was done shouting at (and being shouted at by) Interpol, the evidence was in lockup and Neal had been gone for an hour. Diana said it looked like he was running errands; his tracker zigzagged from June's place to a local downmarket shopping area to an NYU building and up to a local grill that Peter happened to be fond of. When Neal finally showed up again he had a huge metal case in one hand, a couple of bags of take-out in the other, and a grin on his face.
"Eggplant parm for Diana, shrimp salad for Jones," Neal called, dropping them off at their respective desks. "Burger and fries for the American Hero," he added, stopping in Peter's doorway. "But you can't eat it here, Mozzie's waiting for us downstairs."
"Why is Mozzie...you know what? Never mind, I'm starving," Peter said, locking up his files and shutting the computer down. "What's in the case, delivery boy?"
"Supplies," Neal said, leading him to the elevator. "We're dining in Evidence tonight."
"Yeah, I still haven't said you can have those film cans, whatever they are," Peter told him.
"That's why Mozzie's here. We're going to tag-team you," Neal answered.
"Oh, good," Peter sighed, accepting his take-out box from Neal as the elevator door closed.
In the Evidence lockup on the twelfth floor, the canisters were set out in rows on a table, and Mozzie was already fussing with a laptop next to them. Neal set down the food and began unpacking the case, which turned out to be a large reel-to-reel projector. He aimed it at one blank, government-drab wall and started fitting pieces of it together. Peter left them to it, because there was a cheeseburger calling his name.
"So," he said, around a mouthful of fries, "explain to me what this film is. Because if it's top-secret government footage of JFK getting abducted by aliens, I don't want to know."
"You didn't tell him?" Mozzie asked Neal, who shrugged.
"I thought I'd show him," Neal replied.
"How about you tell me now," Peter said, letting an edge of impatient annoyance creep into his voice. Neal took the first roll of film and slipped it into one of the reels on the projector, winding it effortlessly.
"Okay," Neal said, as Mozzie slid something into the inner workings of the projector, just behind the lens. "In 1963, there was this television show on the BBC. Doctor Who."
"Like a spy show?" Peter asked. Mozzie made an indignant noise.
"No, that's Dr. No," Neal corrected patiently. "The show ran for twenty-six seasons."
"So it was a soap."
Neal gave Mozzie a vague, agonized look. "This is your fault," he said. "You got me into this."
"You're the one in the bow tie, John Smith," Mozzie answered. Peter felt this was overly cryptic.
"Doctor Who," he prompted.
"It's a science fiction show," Neal sighed.
"It's the science fiction show," Mozzie announced.
"Neal, if you tell me we're about to watch Invasion Of The Bodysnatchers -- "
"No, it's not like that," Neal said. "Will you just please listen to my story?"
"What else do I ever do?" Peter grumbled.
"The show ran for a long time, but in the 1970's the BBC decided to get rid of a lot of old film archives. They dumped about thirty old episodes. But," Neal said, taking the full film reel off and putting another empty one in its place, loading the second canister's film into it, "they didn't know the show was going to be such a big deal. It's still on, by the way," he added.
Something dawned on Peter. "You weren't at the gem show at Javits."
"Not so much, no," Neal agreed.
"You were at a sci-fi convention."
"Well, it's hard to get to the San Diego con," Neal pointed out, glancing down at his anklet. "Anyway, the point is that for about twenty years people have been looking for the lost episodes. There are some copies floating around, from when the show was sent to other countries for airing, but there's still a lot missing."
Mozzie held up one of the canisters. "Not anymore."
"We hope," Neal said.
"So I just busted a video-game smuggling ring and I'm sitting here in Evidence when I could be home with Elizabeth because of a sci-fi television show from the sixties," Peter said carefully.
"Moz," Neal said, ignoring him, holding up one of the filmstrips to the light. "Moz, I'm pretty sure this is 'The Power Of The Daleks'."
"Seriously?" Mozzie hurried around to study it with him. "Yeah, looks like."
Neal threaded the film carefully through the machine. "You ready?"
"Hey, wait a minute," Peter said, even as Mozzie flicked the lights out. "I haven't said this is okay. This is tampering with evidence."
"Borrowing evidence," Neal said.
"It's also piracy."
"Technically it's not. Especially..." Neal flicked a switch and the projector lit up, "...if we send copies to the BBC. Then they can re-air them. And then they're ours again," he said, in a deeply satisfied voice.
"Ours?" Peter asked.
"The fans," Mozzie said. "They're not meant to be locked up for private viewing. They're meant to be seen."
"Coming from a couple of art thieves, that's pretty rich," Peter drawled.
"Consider it my good deed for the decade," Neal said with a shrug, as a weird, unearthly synthesizer tune filled the little room. Mozzie swayed appreciatively and hummed along. Neal glanced at him, covered his face with one hand, and then pulled up a chair.
Peter didn't want to get sucked into some corny show from the sixties that he'd all but risked his reputation to procure. But he was a fan of old films, and he'd been known to read a sci-fi novel or two in his day. He turned his chair around and settled in to watch, firm in the opinion that he'd be bored two minutes in.
***
"Okay, who is that?" Peter asked.
"That's the Doctor," Neal said, and then -- seemingly unable to resist -- added, "Eleven different actors have played him."
Peter looked perturbed. "All...all at once?"
"No, Suit, keep up," Mozzie sighed. "When one actor gets tired of playing him -- "
" -- or thrown out for bad behavior -- "
" -- that was never proved." Mozzie pointed a warning finger at Neal, who shrugged and grinned. "When one actor gets tired of playing him, he regenerates and a new actor steps in."
"Regenerates," Peter repeated.
"Yeah, he glows and stuff, it's cool." Neal reached over and took a cold french fry from Peter's dinner.
"That's not accurate," Mozzie said.
"Accuracy is the enemy of science fiction," Neal replied.
Peter leaned back, crossing his arms and glancing at Neal. "You seem to know an awful lot about science fiction."
"What, I can't have hobbies?" Neal asked.
"Shut up, both of you," Mozzie hissed, holding up a hand. A large metal construct appeared on the screen, and Peter gaped.
"Jesus Christ, what is that?"
"That's a Dalek," Neal murmured.
"Are they supposed to be terrifying?"
"Yes," Neal and Mozzie said in unison.
"Then they're doing a pretty good -- "
"I'll lend you the DVDs," Mozzie snapped. "Please be quiet, I'm trying to watch!"
"He has the special editions with bonus features," Neal whispered to Peter, who nodded and kept his eyes on the screen.
***
It was near dawn by the time they had all the film copied off; sometimes Neal and Mozzie would slow down the reel so they could watch the episode, but frequently they ran through whole groups of episodes in fast-forward, while Mozzie fiddled with the laptop to make sure it was recording. When the last of the film was back in its canister, Peter re-sealed the evidence bags and turned to them.
"So?" he asked. "What now?"
"Now I burn DVDs and ship them to BBC headquarters," Mozzie said.
"And make me a copy," Neal added.
Peter gave Neal a slightly imploring look.
"And make Peter a copy too even though he's too cowardly to ask for one," Neal added.
"It's still piracy," Peter pointed out. "I can't legally condone this."
"Fine, when they release our hard-won efforts in a special limited-edition DVD box set you can buy them," Neal replied. "Until then, we keep circulating the tapes."
Mozzie snorted. Peter didn't dare ask.
"So this show is still on, huh?" Peter said, as they walked out into the night-dimmed halls of the building, heading for the elevator and the parking garage.
"Off and on," Neal replied.
"And in the hiatus season there's always fanfic -- "
"Mozzie!" Neal made a chopping motion across his throat. "Ixnay!"
"Uh...DVD...copies of old episodes to rewatch," Mozzie corrected as the elevator closed.
"Mmhm. I'll google that, you know," Peter told Neal.
"It's really better for your sanity if you don't," Neal replied.
"I can google it or you can explain it to me in the car while I drive you back to June's."
"Google it is!" Neal replied cheerily, then slung his hat very low over his eyes as they stepped out into the parking garage. He kept guiltily silent all the way home.
***
Rating: PG
Warnings: None.
Summary: Neal has a lead on a priceless work of art he wants to recover, and he needs Peter's help.
Notes: This came about as a result of what was actually an Ocean's Eleven reference but could so easily have been a Blake's Seven reference, if Neal Caffrey were a closet fan of classic Beeb scifi.
BETA CREDIT, JESUS:
spiderine, tzikeh, neifile7, and girlpearl (who is responsible for inspiring the manip. BLAME HER.)Now available at AO3!
Also now there is illustration! See Jenna's sketch of the cosplayers here.
And a podfic! Recorded by
circlette and available for download here. The problem with checking Neal's tracking data at the end of the day, Peter reflected, was that he'd already gotten into all the trouble he possibly could during that day. On the other hand, keeping Neal's map up in realtime on his phone was a little creepy, and tended to run down the battery.
It was a Saturday, and really Peter should be at home with Elizabeth, and was in fact planning to be -- as soon as he checked in on Neal. Because Neal had spent all day at a convention center downtown, a convention center currently hosting two things: the New York Comic Con, and the Bright Empire Gem Show. And Peter knew the kind of havoc Neal could wreak at a gem show.
So he was sitting in Neal's apartment, waiting for him to arrive. As soon as he'd shaken Neal down, found whatever gems he'd stolen or what his plan was to steal them, and scolded him into submission, he'd go home.
"It's like having a kid," he'd grumbled to Elizabeth.
"Make sure he washes behind his ears," she'd told him, and kissed him and sent him off after securing a promise that he'd be back for dinner.
His phone beeped; Neal was within twenty yards. Peter crossed his arms and sat back in the chair, patient.
Mozzie walked in first. He was wearing a long blue military-style coat, a spiky brown hairpiece, and what looked like suspenders over an oxford shirt. Peter stared, but not as hard as he stared at Neal when he appeared in the doorway behind him.
"Seriously, I know I have a reduced expectation of privacy, but you could text," Neal said, looking annoyed.
"What are you wearing?" Peter asked. Neal looked down at his clothing. "Is that a bow tie?"
"Bow ties are cool, Peter," Neal informed him. For some reason Mozzie found this hilarious. "I don't actually have to explain my fashion choices to you," Neal continued, closing the door and shedding the tweed coat he was wearing. It didn't help; the shirt he wore underneath was a sort of light pastel pink button-down, crisscrossed by suspenders holding up a pair of narrow-legged trousers over combat boots. His hair was...strange.
Peter rubbed his eyes. "What's the con?"
Neal shook his head. "No con."
"You're in some kind of costume, Neal. What's the con?" Peter insisted. Neal pulled off the bow tie and turned, leaning against the edge of the table.
"Honestly, I swear on Elizabeth's honor, there is no con," he said. "You can check my an -- you did check my anklet. That's why you're here."
Peter nodded.
"Then you will know I was at the Javits Convention Center all day," Neal said. "It's in my radius."
"What were you doing at the Javits?" Peter asked.
"Helping out a friend," Neal replied. "What, I can't freelance? Man's gotta eat, Peter."
Peter gave him a suspicious glare. "At a gem show?"
Neal and Mozzie exchanged a look. "Mozzie likes gems," Neal said finally.
Peter frowned. "On Elizabeth's honor, huh?"
Neal held up a hand, as if he were taking an oath. "I promise I did nothing illegal today. Neither did Mozzie, he was with me." He smiled. "Did you come all the way from Brooklyn just to check up on me? Peter, that's sweet, in a psychotic kind of way."
"Mostly psychotic!" Mozzie called.
"Thought I might have to bail you out," Peter grumbled, though he couldn't put his heart into it; Mozzie had taken off his wig, and the velcro stuck to his scalp was distracting.
"You want to stay for dinner? I think we're getting Indian," Neal offered. "Listen, either get your heart rate down now or handcuff me, because otherwise I'm going back to the convention center tomorrow."
"Would that I could," Peter sighed. "House arrest would make minding you so much easier."
"But not nearly as much fun," Neal answered, grinning. Behind them, Mozzie ducked into the closet to hang up the strange military coat. "Okay. I know the Bright Empire show is going on, and I know I don't have the best reputation when it comes to gems. But I promise I didn't steal any today, and I won't tomorrow."
Peter gave him a stern look. "I'm trusting your word."
"It's good," Neal said. "Go home and bother your wife, Peter, I'm sticking on the straight and narrow."
"Regrettably," Mozzie said, emerging.
Peter left, though he gave Neal's clothing one last look first.
Seriously, suspenders?
***
"Okay, I have a question for you," Neal said on Monday, and the reason he was treating Peter to lunch at a steakhouse suddenly became clear.
"Whatever it is, the answer's no," Peter replied.
"It's a hypothetical," Neal said, looking hurt. He sipped his water. "Just hear me out."
"Do you not understand the meaning of no?" Peter asked, leaning back, not terribly concerned. "I know the word in several languages. Did you know the Romans didn't even have a word for 'yes'?"
"Did you know the Romans used frescoes of genitalia to ward off evil?" Neal shot back.
"Is that germane?" Peter said mildly. "They had no word for please, either."
Neal rolled his eyes. "Please, Peter, will you listen to my hypothetical situation?"
Peter narrowed his eyes, decided Neal had earned it, and gestured for him to continue.
"Say I had a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to recover a one-of-a-kind cultural artifact," Neal said.
"Recover."
"Steal, okay, happy?" Neal sighed. "A work of art we only have images of. A work of art that was originally intended for public consumption. The problem is that this work of art was mistakenly disposed of, and the man who now owns it retrieved it from the trash."
"That's legal."
"But he's keeping it hidden," Neal persisted.
"Still legal," Peter sipped his beer.
"Okay, but say I knew where it was and could smuggle it out and make an -- "
"No," Peter said.
" -- authenticated copy," Neal finished, "and then put it back."
Peter leaned forward. "Are we talking about a painting, here? Is it Garçon à la Pipe?" he asked in a hushed tone.
"Why, do you know where it is?" Neal asked, leaning forward too.
"Wha -- no, that's the point, nobody knows where it is," Peter said. "And you can't steal a painting, copy it, and put it back."
"But copying it is legal, right?" Neal said. "If it's an acknowledged copy. So if I stole this...object, that's -- "
"B&E and Grand Theft, plus Fraud if you do it right," Peter said drily. "Returning it is B&E and Trespass, plus Concealment."
Neal gave him a daredevil grin. "What if you confiscated the object?"
"Then it's theft of federal evidence."
"But it's not. Peter, what if you confiscate this object in a search, it never leaves the evidence lockup, and then you return it?"
"Are you suborning misuse of federal law?" Peter asked.
"I wouldn't call it that," Neal said thoughtfully. "I'd call it taking advantage of a loophole."
"Neal..." Peter rubbed his eyes.
"Look, over the weekend I may have heard chatter about some smuggling going on," Neal said. "Small-time stuff, imports from Japan. But coming in with one of the shipments is a container with a priceless work of art in it. All I want is the chance to make a copy, Peter."
"You're going to tell me all about this smuggling you heard about," Peter said, returning to his steak. "Then you're going to help me make a bust, if I think a bust is necessary, and then we'll see about this copy you want to make."
Neal's grin was blinding. "I promise, Peter, this will be a feather in your cap."
"It had better be a whole headdress," Peter told him.
***
Peter was less than impressed by the cargo that Neal said was being smuggled -- it wasn't gems, which he supposed was just as well, but on the other hand...it wasn't gems. Pirated Japanese video games left something to be desired in the "impressive" department. Not that confiscating smuggled, pirated video games wasn't part of his job, it just wasn't as...well, as sexy, as gem smuggling.
The container Neal had tipped them off about was a standard wheeled luggage bag, large but not ostentatiously so. Peter had no idea how it had made it past customs on the Japanese end. On the New York side, the plan was apparently bribery; baggage handlers didn't make a lot of money. Peter and Jones busted the smuggler and two airport staff with cash in hand, while Diana and Neal hauled the bag over to an examination area and opened it up.
In a hidden compartment under the lining of the interior -- and in two further hidden compartments in the wheels themselves -- they found flashdrives, each labeled in Japanese and English with a game title. Burned to discs and distributed, they could be worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. Diana, examining one of them in a laptop, was the one who caught onto the fact that two of the seven flashdrives were games that hadn't even been released yet.
Neal was still going through the suitcase when Peter came over to him. "Find this cultural artifact you were looking for?" he asked.
"Not yet," Neal said, running a hand over the back of the suitcase. "Getting there. He couldn't take it in carry-on, the x-rays...aha," he added, before he could get any further with the thought, and opened the suitcase again. The top of the bag was ever-so-slightly domed, but the interior was flat. Neal tugged and the top came free. A handful of small tin canisters tumbled out.
"What the hell are those?" Peter asked, picking one of them up. It was smooth metal and oblong, like an oversized blunt-nosed bullet.
Neal took it out of his hand and carried his treasure over to the darkest corner of the room, unscrewing the top from one of the canisters. Peter peered over his shoulder.
"Film reel?" he said. "Jesus, Neal, what is this, the Cold War?"
Neal grinned. "Better. Are you confiscating everything?"
"Yep, till we can get this sorted out it all goes to evidence," Peter sighed.
"I'll bag and tag these. Diana can watch me, I promise not to steal them," Neal said, when he saw Peter's expression. "Then we need to talk."
"No, then we need to do a whole lot of paperwork and get on the phone with Interpol, and then we need to talk," Peter said. Neal looked annoyed, but it only lasted a second before he pasted a smile back on his face.
"I'll bring dinner," he said cheerfully.
***
By the time Peter was done shouting at (and being shouted at by) Interpol, the evidence was in lockup and Neal had been gone for an hour. Diana said it looked like he was running errands; his tracker zigzagged from June's place to a local downmarket shopping area to an NYU building and up to a local grill that Peter happened to be fond of. When Neal finally showed up again he had a huge metal case in one hand, a couple of bags of take-out in the other, and a grin on his face.
"Eggplant parm for Diana, shrimp salad for Jones," Neal called, dropping them off at their respective desks. "Burger and fries for the American Hero," he added, stopping in Peter's doorway. "But you can't eat it here, Mozzie's waiting for us downstairs."
"Why is Mozzie...you know what? Never mind, I'm starving," Peter said, locking up his files and shutting the computer down. "What's in the case, delivery boy?"
"Supplies," Neal said, leading him to the elevator. "We're dining in Evidence tonight."
"Yeah, I still haven't said you can have those film cans, whatever they are," Peter told him.
"That's why Mozzie's here. We're going to tag-team you," Neal answered.
"Oh, good," Peter sighed, accepting his take-out box from Neal as the elevator door closed.
In the Evidence lockup on the twelfth floor, the canisters were set out in rows on a table, and Mozzie was already fussing with a laptop next to them. Neal set down the food and began unpacking the case, which turned out to be a large reel-to-reel projector. He aimed it at one blank, government-drab wall and started fitting pieces of it together. Peter left them to it, because there was a cheeseburger calling his name.
"So," he said, around a mouthful of fries, "explain to me what this film is. Because if it's top-secret government footage of JFK getting abducted by aliens, I don't want to know."
"You didn't tell him?" Mozzie asked Neal, who shrugged.
"I thought I'd show him," Neal replied.
"How about you tell me now," Peter said, letting an edge of impatient annoyance creep into his voice. Neal took the first roll of film and slipped it into one of the reels on the projector, winding it effortlessly.
"Okay," Neal said, as Mozzie slid something into the inner workings of the projector, just behind the lens. "In 1963, there was this television show on the BBC. Doctor Who."
"Like a spy show?" Peter asked. Mozzie made an indignant noise.
"No, that's Dr. No," Neal corrected patiently. "The show ran for twenty-six seasons."
"So it was a soap."
Neal gave Mozzie a vague, agonized look. "This is your fault," he said. "You got me into this."
"You're the one in the bow tie, John Smith," Mozzie answered. Peter felt this was overly cryptic.
"Doctor Who," he prompted.
"It's a science fiction show," Neal sighed.
"It's the science fiction show," Mozzie announced.
"Neal, if you tell me we're about to watch Invasion Of The Bodysnatchers -- "
"No, it's not like that," Neal said. "Will you just please listen to my story?"
"What else do I ever do?" Peter grumbled.
"The show ran for a long time, but in the 1970's the BBC decided to get rid of a lot of old film archives. They dumped about thirty old episodes. But," Neal said, taking the full film reel off and putting another empty one in its place, loading the second canister's film into it, "they didn't know the show was going to be such a big deal. It's still on, by the way," he added.
Something dawned on Peter. "You weren't at the gem show at Javits."
"Not so much, no," Neal agreed.
"You were at a sci-fi convention."
"Well, it's hard to get to the San Diego con," Neal pointed out, glancing down at his anklet. "Anyway, the point is that for about twenty years people have been looking for the lost episodes. There are some copies floating around, from when the show was sent to other countries for airing, but there's still a lot missing."
Mozzie held up one of the canisters. "Not anymore."
"We hope," Neal said.
"So I just busted a video-game smuggling ring and I'm sitting here in Evidence when I could be home with Elizabeth because of a sci-fi television show from the sixties," Peter said carefully.
"Moz," Neal said, ignoring him, holding up one of the filmstrips to the light. "Moz, I'm pretty sure this is 'The Power Of The Daleks'."
"Seriously?" Mozzie hurried around to study it with him. "Yeah, looks like."
Neal threaded the film carefully through the machine. "You ready?"
"Hey, wait a minute," Peter said, even as Mozzie flicked the lights out. "I haven't said this is okay. This is tampering with evidence."
"Borrowing evidence," Neal said.
"It's also piracy."
"Technically it's not. Especially..." Neal flicked a switch and the projector lit up, "...if we send copies to the BBC. Then they can re-air them. And then they're ours again," he said, in a deeply satisfied voice.
"Ours?" Peter asked.
"The fans," Mozzie said. "They're not meant to be locked up for private viewing. They're meant to be seen."
"Coming from a couple of art thieves, that's pretty rich," Peter drawled.
"Consider it my good deed for the decade," Neal said with a shrug, as a weird, unearthly synthesizer tune filled the little room. Mozzie swayed appreciatively and hummed along. Neal glanced at him, covered his face with one hand, and then pulled up a chair.
Peter didn't want to get sucked into some corny show from the sixties that he'd all but risked his reputation to procure. But he was a fan of old films, and he'd been known to read a sci-fi novel or two in his day. He turned his chair around and settled in to watch, firm in the opinion that he'd be bored two minutes in.
***
"Okay, who is that?" Peter asked.
"That's the Doctor," Neal said, and then -- seemingly unable to resist -- added, "Eleven different actors have played him."
Peter looked perturbed. "All...all at once?"
"No, Suit, keep up," Mozzie sighed. "When one actor gets tired of playing him -- "
" -- or thrown out for bad behavior -- "
" -- that was never proved." Mozzie pointed a warning finger at Neal, who shrugged and grinned. "When one actor gets tired of playing him, he regenerates and a new actor steps in."
"Regenerates," Peter repeated.
"Yeah, he glows and stuff, it's cool." Neal reached over and took a cold french fry from Peter's dinner.
"That's not accurate," Mozzie said.
"Accuracy is the enemy of science fiction," Neal replied.
Peter leaned back, crossing his arms and glancing at Neal. "You seem to know an awful lot about science fiction."
"What, I can't have hobbies?" Neal asked.
"Shut up, both of you," Mozzie hissed, holding up a hand. A large metal construct appeared on the screen, and Peter gaped.
"Jesus Christ, what is that?"
"That's a Dalek," Neal murmured.
"Are they supposed to be terrifying?"
"Yes," Neal and Mozzie said in unison.
"Then they're doing a pretty good -- "
"I'll lend you the DVDs," Mozzie snapped. "Please be quiet, I'm trying to watch!"
"He has the special editions with bonus features," Neal whispered to Peter, who nodded and kept his eyes on the screen.
***
It was near dawn by the time they had all the film copied off; sometimes Neal and Mozzie would slow down the reel so they could watch the episode, but frequently they ran through whole groups of episodes in fast-forward, while Mozzie fiddled with the laptop to make sure it was recording. When the last of the film was back in its canister, Peter re-sealed the evidence bags and turned to them.
"So?" he asked. "What now?"
"Now I burn DVDs and ship them to BBC headquarters," Mozzie said.
"And make me a copy," Neal added.
Peter gave Neal a slightly imploring look.
"And make Peter a copy too even though he's too cowardly to ask for one," Neal added.
"It's still piracy," Peter pointed out. "I can't legally condone this."
"Fine, when they release our hard-won efforts in a special limited-edition DVD box set you can buy them," Neal replied. "Until then, we keep circulating the tapes."
Mozzie snorted. Peter didn't dare ask.
"So this show is still on, huh?" Peter said, as they walked out into the night-dimmed halls of the building, heading for the elevator and the parking garage.
"Off and on," Neal replied.
"And in the hiatus season there's always fanfic -- "
"Mozzie!" Neal made a chopping motion across his throat. "Ixnay!"
"Uh...DVD...copies of old episodes to rewatch," Mozzie corrected as the elevator closed.
"Mmhm. I'll google that, you know," Peter told Neal.
"It's really better for your sanity if you don't," Neal replied.
"I can google it or you can explain it to me in the car while I drive you back to June's."
"Google it is!" Neal replied cheerily, then slung his hat very low over his eyes as they stepped out into the parking garage. He kept guiltily silent all the way home.
***
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