Title: Pinning It Down
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: G
Length: 619 words
Note: Team gen, set after 5.12. Also for princessofgeeks's prompt, "I'm not a worrier, but when I do worry I always pick the wrong thing to worry about." Thanks to mergatrude for beta.
Summary: Diana has a nagging feeling.

Pinning It Down

Clinton pulled his firearm and climbed out of the SUV, closing rather than slamming the door. When he reached the warehouse's perimeter fence, he looked back at Diana, right behind him, also armed and ready. She looked tough and alert, same as ever except for the slight frown on her face.

"What?" said Clinton.

"Nothing. I don't know." Diana's frown deepened.

Clinton raised his eyebrows and waited, not willing to go in until he had a real answer. This was a delicate operation; Peter and Neal were in that warehouse along with at least three Russian art smugglers, and SWAT were still five minutes away. If Diana's gut was telling her something was wrong, Clinton needed to know why.

She narrowed her eyes at the warehouse. "I'm not a worrier, but when I do worry I always pick the wrong thing to worry about."

Neal broke in over the comms, sounding breathless and confined. "What's the right thing to worry about?"

"If I knew that, I wouldn't have this problem," said Diana, her eyeroll evident in her tone. "I mean, it's good to be back at work, but I feel—"

"Rusty?" said Clinton.

She shrugged. "I guess. My instincts are off. I keep thinking something's gonna go wrong."

"Maybe that feeling's just part of being a mom," said Clinton. "You'll get used to it."

Diana's look plainly said gimme a break.

Of course, Caffrey couldn't see that. "Well, you don't have to worry about Mozzie," he murmured. "He's great with Theo."

Diana snorted. "I know. I'm not worried about Mozzie. That's part of what worries me."

Clinton grinned and beckoned her to follow him to the back door of the warehouse, which Neal had left unlocked for them.

"Maybe it's Peter?" said Neal, and for a minute they all stopped and listened in on Peter's negotiations with their suspects. His accent sounded unlikely, even to Clinton's inexpert ear, but Diana shook her head.

"It's not Peter. Though I do not understand why all his cover identities are Polish these days."

"Caffrey's influence," said Clinton. "You ready?" He held up three fingers, then two—

Over the earpiece, Neal said, "That was just one time, and I said Croatian. So if it's not Peter—?"

A burst of gunfire exploded inside the warehouse, and Clinton abandoned the countdown and slammed opened the door. "I think that's your answer," he shouted, as he and Diana ran toward the automatic weapons.

"That's not it." Diana was pounding up the mental staircase next to him. "That I can handle."

"FBI!" They broke down the door to see Peter holding one of Ivan's henchmen at gunpoint while yelling that Ivan was out of time, he should surrender now before he made things worse for himself. Peter's accent had drifted west to Ireland or maybe the Jersey Shore.

Just then, an ominous groan came above them, followed by a loud splintering sound. They all looked up and leaped back as Caffrey crashed to the floor in a shower of dust and broken fiberglass tiles. Lengths of stained plastic ducting clattered down in his wake.

"That's it," said Diana, looking incongruously relieved. She grabbed the nearest henchman and disarmed him in two efficient moves. "Caffrey, you okay?"

Neal scrambled to his feet, dusting himself off. Peter had already taken advantage of the confusion to cuff Ivan, and Clinton grabbed the other goon, who was trying to sneak out the door while they were distracted. "Not so fast."

"You still got that nagging feeling?" Neal asked Diana, picking his way across the rubble.

She shoved her perp toward the door. "No, I'm good now."

Clinton grinned at her. "I think your instincts are just fine."


END