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hollywritesinstardust · 7 years

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Sister Sinner: Chapter Two

Request: Do you do cross-overs? I was thinking Neal Caffery’s younger sister works with the BAU, her brother, Mozzie, and Peter on a case, and ends up crushing on Derek Morgan.

A/N: Chapter 2/?; sorry this took so long! @bestillmystuckyheart wanted to be tagged, so here you go!

Fandom: Criminal Minds/White Collar

Characters/Pairings: Derek Morgan/Reader; Neal Caffrey, Mozzie, Emily Prentiss, Aaron Hotchner, Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia, David Rossi

Words: 2,351

Y/N - Your Name

You still had a stitch in your side from your almost mile-long sprint away from a beat cop when you heard a knock on the door.

Neal taught you many things, but one thing he hadn’t had to teach you was to watch your back. You were a fourteen-year-old living on the run with your brother, who was still so young most people wouldn’t place him any older than twenty. You looked like easy victims. Living as criminals also meant that not only did you make enemies from the people you conned and stole from, but it also meant you had to be extra careful of what you did and said around police. You had to be sure they couldn’t misconstrue anything you said or did.

The first thing you did was look through the peephole, checking for a uniform. No, it wasn’t the cop you’d ditched. It was a short guy, who looked very physically unimpressive – he had an ugly fake wig and a loose-fitting Hawaiian shirt, and white khakis – but looks could be deceiving. After all, you looked like a sweet little girl, but you’d just gone around Central Park, pickpocketing enough money to pay the rent.

“Open up!” The guy called. He didn’t yell, just knocked on the door again, maybe a little harder.

You hesitated before you did as he said. Maybe he was just the landlord.

The door opened slowly. You leaned on the frame so that you could close it quickly if you needed to, and the man couldn’t see very far into the apartment. He was old, easily ten, possibly twenty years older than Neal.

He blinked at you, surprised. You were not who he had expected. You took it to your advantage, made your most confused and nervous face, and adopted a quiet, anxious, meek child’s voice.

“I – I’m sorry, sir,” you whispered to him, looking apologetic and stricken at the same time. “I’m not supposed to let people in when my daddy’s not home.” Neal often played his good looks to his advantage. You’d lost weight without having parents to feed you, despite Neal’s best efforts, so you looked smaller than you were. You chose to utilize that.

Just then, your brother came out from the hallway, toweling off his damp, dark hair. “Y/N?” He called, looking around for you. You panicked, but just for a second, and hoped it didn’t show on your face.

You sniffled and rubbed your nose. “I’ve gotta go,” you told the stranger at the door, making a sad face and starting to close the door. For effect, you started talking to Neal while still sure you could be heard. “How much longer until mommy and daddy get home?”

But it was too late. Although Neal realized you’d been talking to an uninvited visitor, he had already spoken and let his voice be heard. The man in front of you started to push the door open. “Hey, just wait a minute-“

You felt the door being shoved back at you and did the first thing you thought of: you punched him in the jaw as hard as you could.

“No,” Neal muttered, reaching for your shoulder. He pulled you back out of the way and tried to set you behind the door and out of view. Petrified, you let him move you back. Neal stepped up to the door, towel clenched in one hand, and started to hold it half-closed again. “Look, I’m sorry. Forget she’s here, please. You can have your money back.”

The man’s answer sounded very pained. “I don’t want the money.”

By now you realized that Neal must’ve stolen from him, and he’d tracked you both down. Although you were afraid of what he might want, if not restitution, you moved back into view, standing just behind Neal and watching the two older men with trepidation.

Neal tightened his grip on the door. “You did the job perfectly,” he said tensely. “I just cheated. I’m no one. You won’t ever see me again.”

The man, who you would shortly learn to call Mozzie, turned his eyes past Neal and to you. He looked over your defensive stance and then looked back up to Neal. He surveyed both of you, looking intently at your faces, before he came to a conclusion.

“Oh,” he said simply, dropping his hand from his bruising jaw. “Your sister can sure pack a punch. Good thing I’m on your team.”

Though you were pleased with your assignment, Mozzie definitely was not. The Gambinos were a big target. If a Caffrey helped take down a Gambino, maybe the bureau would be a little more lenient on Neal. You could hope.

“Are you insane?!” Moz yelled at you from the couch while you leaned forward to the mirror, sliding your earrings in. “Clearly, you must be, because there’s no other explanation for why you would willingly walk into this – this – this death trap!”

“Relax, Moz,” you said over your shoulder, standing up straight and dusting off your blazer. You smiled at your reflection and then gave a small, excited wave to Neal, who was standing back in the kitchen sipping on coffee. “I know what I’m doing. I’m going to wear a very discreet microphone courtesy of their techie, I’m going to make friends, and then I’m getting out as soon as I have something linking them to the murders.” You turned around, twirling to show off your form-fitting jeans. You wanted to look like an adult, but you didn’t want to be taken as seriously as, say, a fed. “Easy-peasy. Besides, Neal got Keller, Dorsett, and Wilkes, all within a year. I’m falling behind.”

“It’s not a points system,” Neal objected, his brow tightened. He had already voiced his concerns. You knew that neither of them were exactly happy with your decision, and admittedly, it made you a little less optimistic. You preferred when your friends had your backs. You knew that Neal would drop everything for you if you asked – Mozzie, too – but you’d like to be treated like an adult. Moz didn’t throw tantrums when Neal started in on loan sharks that resorted to arson when they weren’t paid.

“Look, the Gambinos are the type that hire contractors,” you reasoned, simply enough for it to feel understandable and safe. “As long as no strange players come in, I figure I’ll be okay if I watch my back, watch my drinks, and lie well. Which I learned to do from the best.”

Mozzie cleared his throat and put his empty wine glass down. “I want the record to show that I detest this idea. That Ruiz guy has some nerve, asking you to do this!”

“Moz, relax,” Neal rolled his eyes. “Besides, Ruiz is the last one that wanted to ask Y/N. Y/N asked herself, more or less, and Ruiz was just more like a messenger that there was an opportunity.”

You sent him a grateful smile over your shoulder. “Exactly,” you agreed. “I promise I’ll be careful. Their team is going to have my back the whole time. If at any time I ever need a way out, they’re on standby. Morgan’s ready to raid, Jareau will stage a phone call, Hotchner will have a distraction provided by the on-site team. Whatever the situation calls for.”

You didn’t mention that you were secretly more than a little worried about this first meeting. You knew that if you admitted to being anxious, Neal would fret that your nerves would get in the way of your performance, and he might fight you more on this. There was very little he could say to change your mind – people were dying, you had to do something – but you always preferred to have him in your corner.

You also neglected to mention that there was a degree of inevitability that if something did go wrong, you would likely be dead before you had the chance to send any sort of signal to anyone in the BAU. The mafia didn’t become the mafia by playing fair or giving advance notices. They became feared because they were dangerous, and you were voluntarily going into a meeting with a lion roused from the den.

You gave the conference room door a solid knock before you opened it. You entered before giving anyone the chance to hide what they were doing. It was customary for Caffreys to get their noses in everywhere, even without invitation. You found that knocking and then quickly entering was accepted in the bureau more often than you’d have expected; if it seemed like you were in a rush, no one cared as much about politeness as much as they cared about something that may or may not be a matter of urgent response. Such is the life of agents where they make a lot of enemies and handle general public safety.

“There she is,” Rossi greeted you. The agents of the BAU were all sitting around the table with the exception of Garcia, who was standing by the front of the room, holding a remote to the on-screen projector but covering her eyes with her arm. “Miss Sofia.”

“Sofia?” You asked, interested, casting Hotchner one of your patented excuse me, sir smiles as you pulled out a chair and sat down next to him.

“We’ve had a fake ID made. We think if you use an Italian name, you could be accepted into the group faster.” Reid explained. You nodded; it made sense. People trusted their own sooner than they trusted outsiders.

“So, Miss Sofia,” Rossi repeated with a smirk, “Welcome to the Italian crime scene.”

“Grazie,” you grinned, neglecting to mention that you’d been on the scene before – robbing the Italian Consulate would probably just get you arrested. The statute of limitations hadn’t passed on that yet. “So, fill me in on my cover.”

Garcia, Reid, and Morgan all told you everything you would need to know. They believed the Gambinos were getting involved in arms trafficking to supplement a future comeback of La Cosa Nostra as the dominant family, so Sofia was an Italian-American arms trader with planted references from Sicily, Naples, Amsterdam, Nice, and British Columbia. Ruiz had his department’s own CIs start rumors that Sofia was in the city looking to make a trade on military-grade weapons before she was flagged by American customs, which meant there was a degree of rapidity required in making a deal. Hopefully, according to Morgan, it would cut back the time frame, allowing you to get in and out of the op sooner and preventing the body count from rising higher than it already had. Reid was sure to throw in, however, that it meant you wouldn’t have as long to build a rapport before they had to let you in or risk losing their supposed weaponry, and that meant you were in a more precarious situation if you were compromised.

“Hey,” Morgan said softly across the table, intentionally catching your eyes. Your confident smirk dimmed slightly. “Last chance to back out now, Y/N. We start this at eleven tonight. Once you’re in, you have to see it through. If you stop halfway, they’ll look into you and find you’re not who you say you are.”

And then they’ll kill me, and possibly my brother. You thought to yourself, almost – almost – second-guessing your willingness to do this.

Then again, Neal had taken down Lao Shen, even though the Chinese could’ve had you killed if Neal had been made. You used to both be very, very cautious, but since Neal had been incarcerated, that had changed. You needed money, which meant larger schemes. Then the FBI forced Neal at worse targets, and him saying no would’ve gotten him imprisoned again. It was by your own insistence that Caffreys had become high-profile targets, because you wouldn’t let him be caged just because he was worried about you.

“Thanks,” you told him honestly. You hated how sometimes it felt like the bureau only saw you and Neal as tools. It was nice to be treated like a person and have agents recognize the danger you were volunteering for. “But I’m the most qualified consultant you have. Say what you will about my brother and I, but we’re anti-violence. Killers need to be stopped.”

“Alright then.” Hotch (as he preferred to be called) stood up from his seat slowly, moving to close the door to the conference room. “The meeting is covert. You go in, you respond to your alias, and you wait to be approached.”

“And then try to convince them to take me back to wherever their hideout is.” You reasoned. “So when I get probable cause, you guys can get a specific address on your warrant.”

“But don’t be the one to suggest it.” Prentiss told you sternly, shaking her head. “If you can steer it in that direction, that would be great. Just don’t ask to go there. No matter what we need, don’t do something that could make you into a threat.”

“You need a help signal, just in case something goes wrong.” Morgan leaned onto the table, tapping a capped pen over a document summarizing your alias’ history. “Is there a word or a phrase that you can remember under pressure, that can be slipped into conversation without alerting them?”

You opened your mouth, but stopped and leaned back. With your toes, you rocked your chair, thinking seriously. Neal was usually assigned his phrases, but you supposed that choosing your own ensured you would be able to think of them even if you had a gun to your head.

It took you a moment, but you were able to come up with two words that held such suspenseful and terrorizing associations to you that you would never in your life be able to forget.

“Music box,” you told him simply, neglecting to expand on your answer, even when Prentiss, Reid, and Garcia all looked at you in confused inquisition. “Trust me,” you told Morgan, who had arched an eyebrow in reluctant skepticism. “There’s no way I’d ever forget ‘music box.’”

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