In hiding

Danny's head was aching and he felt cold one minute hot the next, shivering and then sweating. He had been feeling ill since he had woken up but he hadn't wanted to miss school today, he had double history which was one of his favourite classes and he certainly didn't want to be at home, this was not one of his mom's good weeks, so he'd simply ignored it, hoping that maybe he'd feel better once he was up. He washed and dressed, he was down to his last clean t-shirt he noticed, he'd had to do some washing tonight.

He had learnt the hard way that turning up to school in dirty or old clothes invited the wrong sort of attention, both from the other students but even worse from the teachers. He didn't want social services sniffing around again, making his mom cry threatening to take him away from her. They didn't seem to understand it wasn't Danny who needed looking after, if Danny wasn't here making sure she ate every day, who knows what would happen to her. Like mom said it was just the two of them against the world. Dad had been a hero, a policeman and he had been shot by bad men, dangerous men. The world was full of bad people. You couldn't trust anyone except family. That was why they had to live here, so that the bad men couldn't find them so it was just the two of them. It was why special policemen called Marshall's used to come by every few months when Danny was younger. His mom said they couldn't be trusted either, they were always asking questions about her losing her job, asking questions about how she was looking after Danny, making her cry. They were dangerous too, but in a different way, they might decide Danny and his mom couldn't stay together or that they would stop protecting them from the bad people who killed his Dad and still wanted to kill Danny and his mom if they found him.

Danny found himself in his first class, without really remembering how he got there. He chose a sit in towards the front of the class, not close enough to the front that he would be seen as a swot but still close enough to the front to seem keen, so that Mrs Donnelly wouldn't pay attention to him. Normally Danny had no problems following along in class, in fact he was normally the top of all his classes, though he was careful not to do too well, as that was as bad as doing too badly. He pretended to read the book but all he could think of was how long it was until he could go home. His head throbbed in time to the second hand on his watch. He made it through to lunch somehow. He wanted to just go home, but there was no way they would just let him leave. They would want to call Mom to come get him. Then everything would come out. He should have stayed home this morning he thought regretfully as he sat in the canteen. The other kids chattered around him, the noise which never normally bothered him seemed too loud. The noise was like little pin pricks in his head. He tried to put on a smile as one of them said something to him. Nausea washed over him suddenly he got up to rush to the bathroom, the world tilted around him and everything went dark.

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Neal woke up sweating; it had been a while since he had even thought about that incident. Since he had thought of himself as being Danny. He sat up and realised his head really was aching and his throat scratchy. That was probably why his subconscious had dragged up being ill as a kid, just his subconscious making strange connections. He forced himself to get up, but after a shower and coffee he still felt exhausted and achy. He was reluctant to call in sick. He was supposed to be going with Peter to a gallery to authenticate a painting, showing off his skills to Peter was always fun.

He wasn't hungry but forced a few bits of toast, since taking tablets on an empty stomach was a bad idea and then took a large dose of ibuprofen. His phone rang letting him know Peter was waiting downstairs. The autumn breeze felt great as he opened the door, though he knew it was only because he was running a fever. He could see Peter waiting, impatient as always. He opened the door and climbed in.

"Good morning Peter." He said in his best Neal voice. Neal was always polite. It was always the best starting point in any situation. That was something Danny hadn't realised. That being considerate of other people often made them considerate of you, and that even if it didn't that it gave you a set of rules by which to live. It helped to have a code to live by, a set of rules of behaviour that told you how you should behave in difficult situations. It had been hard being Danny, Neal thought.

"Are you listening to me?" Peter's voice intruded on Neal's thoughts. Neal tried to remember what Peter had been saying, something about the case, Neal thought.

"Of course I was listening. I always listen to you Peter." Neal lied smoothly.

Peter humphed but in his amused tone so Neal figured he had got away with the half lie.

They pulled up at the gallery and it took a minute for Neal to find his legs.

"Something the matter?" Peter asked asking him critically, as he took an extra step to find his balance getting out of the car. There was a reason Peter had been the agent that had finally caught Neal Caffrey, notorious bond forget and suspected art thief, he was smart. He knew Neal inside and out, had made a career out of studying the mind of Neal Caffrey. Sometimes Neal thought Peter knew him better than he knew himself.

"Think I might be coming down with a cold." It was as close to the truth as he was able to admit, even to Peter. He felt those brown eyes examining him closely, with the focus of a microscope. Neal plastered his game face grin on and withstood the scrutiny, just. He wasn't sure why he didn't just tell Peter he wasn't feeling well. As much as Neal liked to pretend Peter was a tyrannical boss to Mozzie and the rest of the White Collar team, he was a reasonable person. He wouldn't expect Neal to work when he was ill, Neal was sure. He was 99% sure. Well maybe 75%. Maybe that was the problem, if he did tell Peter and then Peter let him down, Neal couldn't face that. Not when he was ill, maybe when he was feeling better. No, wait that didn't make sense, when he was feeling better he wouldn't need to tell Peter he was feeling ill. He smiled to himself at thought as he followed Peter in to the gallery.

The gallery owner introduced himself, he seemed nervous. He had approved the purchase of the piece they were there to approve. If it turned out to be a forgery it would cost him reputation as well as money. Neal almost felt bad as he looked at the piece and saw immediately that it was a forgery. He pretended to examine the piece for a few minutes, pretend that it wasn't immediately obvious to him that this was a forgery, that half a dozen little things didn't leap out at him to say this wasn't an original. He waited for Peter to ask the question, so that he wouldn't be the one to let the man down.

"Well?" Peter asked impatiently.

"It's a fake." Neal told him quietly, then explained the main tell-tale signs that proved it. He pretended to look at the other pieces in the gallery as Peter went through the procedures with the gallery owned. He really wanted to sit down, or at least lean against a wall but that would have been giving himself away.

He found himself staring at a modernist piece made up of newspaper clippings all cut up and pasted together. It could have been a self-portrait Neal thought hazily, he was made up of pieces, all put together trying to make a whole person out of bits and pieces.

"don't tell me this one's a fake too?" Peter asked coming up beside him suddenly, Neal tried not to jump. He was definitely off his game.

"No it's real, it's the real me." Neal said. Peter looked at him strangely.

"Okaaay." Peter said slowly. "Well if you're done let's get back to the office, I've got a stack of files with your name on." He headed towards the gallery exit, Neal tried to follow but the world tilted around him like he was on a roller-coaster. He saw Peter turn his expression turning worried before he closed his eyes against the dizziness and everything floated away.