Title: White Rabbit
Category: thriller/angst/action/mystery
Rating: R (violence), M ffnet rating.
Inspiration: Prompted by a photo art/writing challenge by kanarek13 on Live Journal.
Description: When Peter is kidnapped by parties unknown Neal is forced to cut his anklet and head out on a directed crime spree to keep Peter alive. On the run from the FBI, cops and the US Marshals Neal has to keep a step ahead of everyone while trying to piece together who took Peter and what it is they really want. Meanwhile Peter is also determined to discover his captor, but also to do his best to keep Neal from completely disregarding the FBI's policy on not negotiating with kidnappers even if it could cost him his life.

Note from Author: This is all around a lot 'darker' than my usual White Collar story, but I thought it might be fun to think outside the box...or in this case I suppose inside the box (that bad joke will make sense once you see the set up). So fair warning this is a high 'angst' story. Also although this is set somewhere mid season two I decided to use technologies (tablets, phones, bluetooth, whatnot) that is more what you'd find today.

Another Note from Author: This story will not get in the way of All or Nothing if you're reading that. I've already got eight chapters written and I'll be posting them over the next few weeks as I finish up All or Nothing.

White Rabbit

Chapter One

"What..."

Waking up disoriented Peter tried to think past the throbbing headache that was assaulting his senses. Laying on his back on a hard surface he fluttered his eyes open only to be greeted by a harsh blinding light. Closing his eyes once more Peter tried to piece together what the last thing he remembered was. As the memory flooded back to him a wash of hot adrenaline jolted him fully awake. Sitting bolt upright he scrambled back only to quickly find himself boxed into a corner.

With his heart slamming against his ribs Peter looked around at his new surroundings. Dull silver colored metal surrounded him closely on all sides. He quickly estimated that the space couldn't be more than six feet wide by nine feet long with probably only five and half feet from the floor to the ceiling which held two powerful recessed lights that were protected by thick glass. It was the low ceiling more than anything that made the space crush in on him as he worked to ignore the an icy stab of fear from finding himself in the tight space.

The box like room was almost featureless with a few exceptions. There was a grate about one foot square set into the wall in the upper far right corner, the corner to the left of the grate was blocked off by a small mirror that Peter assumed was one way and held a camera behind it. It took a close inspection of the wall at his back to find the seam where the door was.

Peter though back on this morning as he tried to recall exactly what had happened. He had just gotten out of his car in the underground parking lot at work. It had been early and there were only a few scattered cars on the level where he parked. Feeling secure in the Federal Building he hadn't been expecting an attack. Grabbed from behind someone had pressed a wet sweet smelling cloth against his face. He hadn't been able to free himself before needing to take a breath, when he did the world almost instantly went to black.

"Great, just great." Peter growled.

Falling back on his training at Quanitco on what to do when captured Peter took an inventory of everything he had. Reaching into his jacket and pants pockets he found them all empty, they had taken his phone, wallet, keys, badge, cuffs, and even the spare change from when he'd stopped to buy coffee before work. He still had his shoulder harness, but it was missing his weapon and spare clips. For what it was worth they had left him with his shoes, belt, tie, and wedding ring. He didn't have an immediate plan for any of the items, but it helped him focus to take stock.

Exploring the cage Peter knocked on all of the walls. The far wall and right hand wall sounded solid and were probably against the main walls of whatever building the container was in. The back wall with the door and the left wall rang more hollow when knocked on. Although he doubted that anyone who could hear him would help Peter pounded on the left wall a few times just in case there was a good Samaritan with in ear shot. After getting no response Peter pressed his ear against the seam where the door was to try and hear what was going on. The only sound that he could detect was a mechanical hum that got louder when the air suddenly kicked on. Peter was grateful for the ventilation because he had started to feel the air in the sealed box getting a little thick.

"At least they aren't trying to suffocate me."

The idea that his captors wanted to keep him alive was somewhat comforting. As long as he could still breathe there was always chance of escape. Focusing on the flush seam of the door Peter decided that it must swing out since there were no hinges on the inside. Hoping that it had a weak latch Peter threw his shoulder into the door. On the fifth attempt to break the door Peter decided that he was more likely to break his shoulder than the sturdy door. With each strike he could hear the padlock on the outside clink against the metal door.

Sitting back Peter just stared at the door for a moment while he tried to come up with a different plan. Suddenly worrying that he might not be the only one that had been taken Peter returned to the more hollow sounding wall. It might not be an outer wall, it could be aligned with a similar cell. If someone was trapped on the far side they may have been too fearful to respond to the pounding that Peter had tried first.

"Neal?" Peter called loudly. "Neal?"

Peter put his ear against the wall once more and held his breath to help him hear. Again the only sound was the hum of the air compressor. Concentrating harder Peter tried to detect anything else. There were no sirens, no traffic noises, no sound of water, just the constant industrial humming. Peter sat back again and wrapped his arms around his sour stomach. He told himself that the pain in his stomach was an after effect of the drugs that had been used on him and not fear. Fear was pointless right now and would only make the hours to come more difficult. Finding his courage Peter managed to relax and concentrated on finding a new plan even though his options were limited at this point.

Peter had been so focused on his confinement that he hadn't even noticed how cold it was getting until his breath swirled away from him in a translucent white haze. Turning his attention back to the small grate in the upper corner he watched a small strip of orange cloth that had been tied to it flap in the artificial Arctic breeze. It didn't take more than a few minutes for Peter's skin to prickle as it reacted to the cold. His light weight blazer wasn't offering much protection and he knew he would be shivering uncontrollably within the hour if he didn't do something. Activity would help, but it wouldn't be easy in the small space, plus there was a fine line between keeping warm and making things worse by sweating.

Getting to his feet Peter hunched over to keep from hitting his head on the ceiling. Going over to the grate he spent a moment trying to remove the mesh cover. If he could open the air conditioning shaft he could stuff his jacket into it and slow down the draft. The grate was securely in place and Peter had nothing to use as a tool for leverage or to undo the screws with. With his fingers becoming numb from prying at the cold metal Peter's hand slipped and he sliced his palm open on the sharp edge of the grate.

Jerking back Peter struck his the back of his head on the low ceiling of the metal container. Swearing under his visible breath Peter backed into the far corner away from the cold wind. He knelt down so that he didn't have to keep his shoulders and neck bent. He didn't dare sit down on the metal floor, he needed to minimize his contact with the cold solid surface since it would drain his heat ten times faster than the air would.

Pressing his bleeding hand against his jacket sleeve to slow down the flow Peter worked to suppress the feeling of claustrophobia that was threatening to tie more knots in his stomach. Closing his eyes he momentarily shut out the walls that surrounded him. He needed to stay calm if he was going to survive. Taking a deep breath Peter opened his eyes. Looking around again a chill ran down his spine that had nothing to do with the fast dropping temperature in the small space. Someone had written something in oil on the wall and as the metal surface frosted over the lettering became clear.

'You know what I want, Caffrey.'