I said a KIDNEY!

I've been running into a lot of badfic recently, from all sorts of different fandoms. Recently, however, I remembered this one, which I actually found a while ago but forgot I had already snarked. But I realized the snark I had already written for this would do, and so now I bring to you a story about illegal organ transplants.

Yeah. And so, without further ado, I offer you...

One of a Kind, a very predictable fic about harvesting kidneys!

Okay, so one of my favorite episodes of season one of White Collar is Vital Signs, where a guy named Dr. Powell is running a charity scam to try and find himself a zero-mismatch kidney. He's completely non-threatening in a violent sense, and in the end, he’s of course caught by Neal and Peter, and presumably arrested and taken to jail for scamming lots of people out of lots of money.

But who cares about that? This is a fic, so we can do what we want, right? Right!

Chapter one opens the story by revealing to us that Dr. Powell is in some sort of strange jail because of his health condition, which is at least vaguely understandable. Powell’s lawyer then hands him a file which identifies Neal Caffrey (who had broken into Powell’s office in order to steal evidence. He was caught and drugged, but was smuggled back out of the building by Peter. It was a badass scene.). The point is, the fact that their ability to identify Neal at all makes zero sense because Powell never actually saw Neal when he was in the building, they presumably took no pictures of him, and the orderlies had no idea who he was. But I digress…the chapter ends on a “cliffhanger”…surprise! NEAL HAS DR. POWELL’S ZERO-MISMATCH KIDNEY. OMG. What will happen in chapter two?!

Tl;dr: Dr. Powell is a bad man and wants to illegally harvest Neal’s organs. Let’s start this snark, shall we?

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Rikers Island, New York:

Cmdr. William Riker: Wait—what? Don’t bring me into this.

We’re not, Riker. Go stroke your beard somewhere.

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Powell crumbled the paper in his hand in frustration. It was just his luck that of all the people to be such a match it would be the one who helped land him in prison. A maniacal grin crossed his features.

He just felt so eeeevil sometimes.

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Yet, at the same time karma was at work. The one who tricked him into thinking he was going into kidney failure

It was awesome. Dude, they made you think you were in India when really…
Sorry. Right. Evil. Go on.

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would be his saving grace. He smoothed the paper back out and carefully folded it. He slipped it into his pocket.
He leaned back against his bed, closing his eyes as he plotted.

His is an evil plot.

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His lawyer would already be quickly at work, helping to lose him in mountains of paperwork.

Huh? Oh…he was lost in spring’s Great Paper Avalanche. Shame, that.

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Escaping wouldn't be hard at all—not from this prison.

I don’t doubt it, somehow.

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And so, when the lights shut off for night hours, it would begin…

THE SOUNDS OF EVIL LAUGHTER, THAT IS! MWA HA HA HA HAAAAAAAAAAAA

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FBI Bureau, New York City Headquarters:

Cutaway!

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Peter growled as he looked at the note in front of him. "What do you mean that Neal isn't here? He knows how important this case is for us!"

“Sorry boss, but he’s kind of busy getting kidnapped for the eighth time this month. Those whump writers really don’t let up.”
“But today is…it’s only the fifth.”
“Yeah.”

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"We called his cell and already phoned June." Jones said, "She said he had left for work an hour ago."
"It's not like Neal to be late."

Depends on what your standards of “late” are.

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Peter tossed the file onto his desk as looked at his agent, "Jones, get me Neal's tracking information."

Do it yourself.

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"There's a problem with that,"

Isn’t there always?
No. Only if it’s a whump!fic.

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Cruz walked into the room, worry written on her face. "Neal's tracker just went offline. It's either been cut or tampered with." She stood in Peter's doorway, body tense and ready for orders.
"I'll go see what I can find." Jones turned and took his leave. Peter knew his agent was itching to get to the root of this problem. He knew that his agents and Neal had grown rather close despite their nonchalant attitudes or bickering. Neal was like a wayward puppy—it was impossible not to have affections of some sort for him.

Neal’s always getting compared to a puppy…but it is probably true.

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"Damn it!" Peter slammed his fist down onto his desk. 'Where are you Neal? What have you gotten yourself into now?' Worry was churning in Peter's gut.
TBC
Author's note: Borrowed Riker's Island from Law and Order SVU. I figured it was better than making up some random name, especially when that name was "Queen Victoria's Prison" for some strange reason.

Okay…wow.
Seriously, author? You couldn’t just google “Riker’s Island” and find out that it’s a real prison?

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Note: Thanks to WitchPencil for reminding me of something I forgot to put into this chapter!

Logic?


Here's chapter three, cos these are shortish:

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Chapter Three:
Neal struggled against his bonds, breath quickening and a cold sweat breaking out across his feverish skin. His wrists were already rubbed red and raw. His hair was matted on his forehead. His impeccable suit, tie, and jacket were carelessly thrown into a corner.

So…can I assume he’s not wearing a shirt…? Again? Hawt.

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"Neal, Neal, Neal." A voice jerked him from his struggles. His mind quickly attempted to pin point the voice. The voice seemed to notice this.

Disembodied voices are very attentive.

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Shuffling drew Neal's attention over to a shadowy corner where the door was located.

This shouldn’t be surprising, considering most people tend to enter rooms through doors.

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"I'm hurt. You don't remember me?"
"What do you want?" Neal stated as calmly as he could. His personality was one of his best weapons. If he could possibly incite this person enough, he hoped to be able to take advantage of the red haze that accompanied anger.

I’m gonna pretend that made sense and skip over it.

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"Oh nothing, really. Just a little something I think is only fair. After all, you made be believe I was dying. It's the least you could do to remedy the situation. Oh, and don't worry. When I'm sipping juice on the beaches of Mexico, I'll be sure to thank you."

That’s bizarre.

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"Powell." Neal blinked in surprise as the haggard doctor stepped out of the shadows.
"Got it in one. Such a smart boy."

Well…yeah. But he’s thirty-two, so…

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Powell hissed, eyes narrowing. "I trusted you, and you—you…"

You did? You only acknowledged him at all because you thought he was another doctor who could get you a kidney.

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His nostrils flared in anger, before he took a calming breath and visibly collected himself. "Well, that's all in the past."
"The FBI isn't going to be happy to learn you skipped out on prison, especially when you fought so hard for leniency regarding your condition." Neal pointed out in his matter-of-fact voice.
"Shut up. It won't matter, by the time I'm done with this, then I'll already be on my way. Saving money in various Swiss banks does come in handy after all. I've got myself a team that will take care of me and guard me."

In prison.

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"Nothing will be able to protect you from Peter. He'll find you and throw you back in prison. I would know." Neal cheekily grinned, rolling his wrists against his bonds.

Owned.

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A feeling of dread was beginning to grow in his gut. Something was off about this situation, and it was sending warning bells ringing throughout his body.

Hey…hey, wait a second…am I in another badfic? GODDAMMIT.

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"It won't matter. He'll be more occupied with you. I've been keeping an eye on you for the last couple of months. You've grown too comfy. It was all too easy to slip you a drug." Well, that certain explained the residual drowsiness, floating, and dizzy feeling. "

Uh…you were experiencing all of those and ignored them?

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Mozzie was always so paranoid he couldn't help but laugh at the ideas the short man came up with.

Wow, you can totally tell that they’re bffs.

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He tried never to be too predictable and easy to find (for those who weren't close and trusted friends of course).

He is a conman. This comes naturally.

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Neal always tended to have the same routine, depending on the day. June always had a morning volunteering position every Tuesday. It was on those days he decided to treat himself to a little home-brewed coffee from a little artsy bistro on his way to the Bureau.

Ah, yes. But is it technically home-brewed if you didn’t make it yourself? Think about it, Neal. WHAT’S WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE?!!!111one!!1!

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He enjoyed the coffee and the atmosphere. It was… nostalgic to watch the young artists around him. It made him think of less worrying times.

When you drew things in prison?

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At 8:45 he would gulp down the rest of his brew and start heading towards the Bureau. Sometimes he would sidetrack, maybe splurge a little and buys a little something to entertain himself with at the office,

But…you work at the office. Work entertains you at the office.
One could argue, even, that you have possibly one of the most entertaining jobs a person could have.

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or something to give Elizabeth to make Peter get all hot and bothered.

Lol?
No.

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He loved Tuesdays. It was the one day that he could find his own way to work without having to worry about who he was carpooling with (usually Peter and sometimes Jones).

…Then…why not just walk everyday?

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He slowly fell into a routine. He made a schedule of it, actually, to make sure that he was at the office before Peter was so he wouldn't be "scolded" for being late. Coffee, people gazing, work.

Yeah, this is how having a job works.

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Karma must not like him. Mozzie, if he wasn't worried about the situation Neal managed to get himself into, would probably be telling him "I told you so."
When he noticed Powell was still bragging, Neal found himself wondering about why the villains in life felt the need to monologue.

Wow, did you steal that from The Incredibles?

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Was it a vanity issue?

You’re scolding someone about vanity?

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"And Peter? Well, as soon as he notices you're missing and you haven't flown the coop, he'll be too panicked to think straight. I've seen the way he cares about you."

D’awwwwww

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Neal raised an eyebrow at that statement, which Powell ignored. "Now, are those restraints too tight? I hope they aren't chaffing. After all, I need to make sure that you're taking care of yourself."
"And why would that matter to you?" Neal winced when he saw the doctor pull out a long syringe. He tapped it two times and squirted it once to get rid of any air bubbles.

Mystery drug! How Powell managed to obtain all of this stuff is still even more of a mystery, of course.

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Powell turned to his captive, "Why to make sure that the donor for my new kidney is in tip-top shape of course!"
TBC

OHMYGAWD WHAT’S GONNA HAPPEN YOU GUISE


The lulziest part of this story is up next. I have it snarked and ready to go, but I thought I'd let people read it first before I get cocky and post the whole thing. >.>; When I snarked it originally a few months ago there were only five chapters, but now there are seven and I still have to have a go at those anyway.

Not a liver or a lung, I said a KIDNEY! Lol'd so hard! Post the other chapters!

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So…can I assume he’s not wearing a shirt…? Again? Hawt.

Squee!

Okay, so...yeah. I meant to post the next two chapters of this sooner, but I didn't want to was too lazy forgot. But now I'm going to because I can and because this is the part in the story where shit gets real.

Let's harvest some organs! WOOOO!

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Chapter Four:
Neal breathed heavily in and out, adrenaline rushing through his veins and panic blurring his mind. He had been in some pretty tight situations before, but never had he felt so completely and utterly helpless!

Actually, I find that hard to believe.

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There was no room for him to twist his wrists around in the restraints latching him to the table. He knew the leather probably had blood on them by now; he imagined he could feel it running down his wrists.

Wait, you mean the same restraints they used to strap him down in Vital Signs? He got out of those.

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He clenched his teeth, straining his muscles in the futile effort to escape. He didn't want to be sliced open, used for harvesting an organ for a desperate psychotic criminal! He didn't sign up for this when he became a Bureau consultant!

THIS IS NOT MAH JOB

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"Peter, of all the times to find me, now would be a really good time!" Neal hissed out through clenched teeth.

Or, you know, five minutes ago would have been good, too.

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A door creaked open and a lovely orderly walked in, wearing a white uniform with squeaky clean white shoes as well. She looked out of place, with her cheeky smile, blonde hair, and merry brown eyes. "Hello there Mister Caffery!" The woman said, "Anything I can help you with today?" She took sight of his wrists, eyes widening and gasping a bit.

“Uh…you can stop a psychotic man from harvesting my organs?”

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Neal watched as she tutted and quickly pulled out a med kit, prepared to help his bandages. She paused momentarily before unlatching the restraints and meticulously bandaging his wrists.
"There!" She tightened the restraints once more and pulled back, hands on her hips in a proud manner. "All better."

“Oh, thanks! I feel much better about this now!”

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"Actually, could I go to the bathroom, miss?" Neal pleaded, turning his wide doe brown eyes onto her.

…Last time I checked, Neal had blue eyes. And, believe me, it’s really hard to not notice what color Neal’s eyes are.

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She melted like butter on a hot day. Neal felt a brief flicker of hope spark in his chest.

Still got it.

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"Alright sugar." Joy toothily smiled, "Let's get you to the restroom. I'm sure you want some last couple of moments to compose yourself. Such a brave young man, willing to donate some of your kidney!"

Donate? Some?

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Caffery felt fear rush into him once more upon her words. Surgery. Donate. Kidney.

Sentences. Not. Forming.

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He was barely able to suppress a shudder running down his spine. He gave her a tight smile, "Yeah." So that was the lie Powell told the doctors and attending staff?

Uh. Wait. Then why don’t you just tell them that Powell kidnapped you and wants to illegally rip out your kidney? This whole thing could be easily avoided. As far as I can tell no one’s around to stop you and you’re in a public area.
Also, why is he being forcibly restrained if they really do believe he’s volunteering to donate his kidney?

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The nurse escourted him to the restroom and he chamed his way into her heart.

These two things are clearly not mutually exclusive. They are just the natural way things progress in life.

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Of course it didn't hurt that she assumed he was here willingly out of the kindness of his heart.

Again, why does she assume this?
His wrists were bleeding because he was struggling. Against the restraints.

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"Even though you have such an anxious condition! Why, if I had to deal with such a fear of hospitals then I doubt I would ever volunteer for such a thing! I'm sure it helps a bit that we're a smaller place of operation than a public hospital, but—still! You're handling this like such a trooper!"

That made sense.

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Joy was certainly a joy to be around.

GET IT?

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However, Neal couldn't help but predict he would rarely set foot anywhere near a doctor or hospital if he could after this situation was… resolved.
"Here we are, hun." Joy pushed open the door for him. "Mind those wrists dear. Just think wide-open spaces. Or at least that's what Gail says on up there in therapy for some of her patients."

Yay, butterflies!

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"Thanks, Joy, you've been a great help!" Neal made his way into the restroom.
She winked at him, "Not a problem darling. I'll wait for you out here.

Wow…creepy. Looks like you’ve got (another) stalker on your hands, Neal. Ohnoes!

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I figured the staff bathroom would appear less… institutional than our regular bathrooms." Honestly, the woman had a heart of gold.

She’s still gonna help cut out your kidney, though.

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He almost felt bad tricking her and using her like this. But, when the Bureau came—if they come, a small voice whispered in the back of his mind—at least he could put in a good word for her. Unlike the other greedy bastards who were a part of this scheme.
"Hey, do you…uh think that I could use your cell phone really quick? Just to buzz my mom and let her know how I'm doing. She always gets nervous when I'm off by myself—or when I'm nervous." He chuckled, hands shaking slightly, sheepishly looking at the kind woman. Outwardly, he portrayed the act as only a professional conman was able.

Or a professional actor.

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"Of course." She said, after only a few moments of hesitation. "Just be quick. I'm sure the doctors won't want you up and about for much longer. Mr. Powell is going to be coming in in about an hour, so there's a lot of prep work to be done!" She passed him her sleek mobile.

OKAY, SERIOUSLY? WHAT EXACTLY IS STOPPING YOU FROM TELLING THEM EVERYTHING THAT’S GOING ON HERE? I don’t recall Powell making any particular “stalemate”-type threats.

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"Thanks!" He shut the door behind him, fingers rapidly dialing Peter's number. He closed his eyes briefly, thanking whatever being was watching over him at that moment. Things were finally looking on his side!

…Things are always looking on your side, Neal. Well…most of the time. Seriously, have you seen your life?
Okay, never mind.

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He had a phone, an hour time limit, and memorized Peter's cell phone number.
His heart plummeted when all he got was Peter's voicemail. Of all the times to not have his phone on! A rage coiled inside of him

GODAMMIT PETER…RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEG

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as well as overwhelming desperation. He quickly rattled off a desperate voicemail.
"Peter! Please! You've got to help me! Powell has got me somewhere in a private facility! He said something about me being a match and taking my kidney! I've got less than an hour. This is Joy's cell phone—the number is 555-432-1689! If you call it, you can trace it, right? I heard the intercom paging doctor

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Shulevitz and Urbanovix!

Okay…that sounds fishy. Urbanovix actually sounds like a drug you would take before surgery.

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I don't think we've left the city—Powell is out somewhere and is going to be here soon. Peter—please hurry." A female voice then notified him that he had reached his limit. The message was sent express.

As opposed to what? Overnight delivery?

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Joy knocked on the door. "Neal, are you okay?"
Neal looked at the mirror and his sunken eyes. Terror was in them. The clock was ticking.

Terror. It was in them. He had no idea why this author would hate him so much that they wouldn’t let him just tell everyone what was going on.

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He took a deep breath and turned on the faucet. "Just a minute Joy." He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the mirror. The glass was cool against his flushed forehead. His eyes snapped open as he inspected the mirror once more.
It was a medicine cabinet.
Fear and desperation drove him. He had to buy himself some time. He quickly but quietly unlatched the cabinet, finding a plethora of pills.

Who the fuck puts an open and unsecured stash of unidentified pills in a hospital bathroom?

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His eyes landed on one bottle and he popped it open. He poured pills into his hand and shoved them rapidly into his mouth, cupping his hands under the faucet and gulping water down.

Uh…yeah. Aside from buying you time, that could actually kill you. So...great plan.

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He flicked the lock closed, ignoring Joy's worried dulcet tones. As much as he hoped he would survive this ordeal, he would rather die than be used to harvest organs like they did in some creepy sci-fi movie he had once seen with Kate.

HARVEST THIS, MUTHAFUCKAS

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He stumbled back, falling backwards. His head crashed against the toilet seat

Broken neck, broken skull, stolen kidney. Awesome.

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and everything went black.
TBC

OHSHIT

And now, chapter five.

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The FBI picked the most inopportune time to barge into the building, flashing badges, a warrant, and guns blazing.

Guns blazing? Come on, guys, really? In a hospital?

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Peter was near the head of the group, eyes sharp and calculating. All personnel in the room froze. Looks of shock and confusion were blatant on their face. Peter felt a surge of fear spike through him when he saw a gurney.

A GURNEY? IN A HOSPITAL? NO!

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Joy looked up, hand frozen on the syringe she was about to hand to the doctor who was on call. Strands of her hair were coming out from her tight bun, matching with her frenzied state. Never would she have expected the charming young man to be so on edge that he would be willing to attempt suicide!

THEY’RE TRYING TO HARVEST HIS ORGANS YOU STUPID FUCKS

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"Neal!" Peter shouted, flicking the safety on his weapon as he rushed forward. Other agents swarmed the building.

Like spiders, if spiders had guns and badges. And awesomeness.

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The elder agent rushed over to his partner, taking in the pale skin and deathly still body.

“Okay, he’s dead. Well…so much for that.”

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The doctors, driven by their nature,

Their…doctoral…nature?

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quickly spurred back into action, calling out orders as they attempted to save a life. The agents gave them a clear berth, their actions condoning their behavior.

O…kay…

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Not to mention Peter Burke hovering like a helicopter parent,

A helicopter parent?! Sweet! All the cool kids have those!

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worry evident in his eyes, as he ordered the doctors "You had better save him! I swear I will throw you in jail for being a part of this!"

*headdesk*

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His threats and rants luckily fell on deaf ears.

Yeah, those doctors are too busy trying to save Neal from a drug overdose he obtained from taking a handful of unidentifiable pills. Duh.

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Quickly, they pumped his stomach

In the middle of the hallway?
Wait, quickly? Don’t stomach pumps usually take a little bit of time?

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and Peter had to avert his eyes as the sight and smell made his own stomach turn.
Everything seemed a blur of movement. The seasoned agent felt dizzy, as if the world was spinning and tilting all around him.

Wow, maybe Powell drugged him, too.

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Diana's calm voice broke through the rushed haze. "Boss," her guiding hand led him from the crazed foray. "We need to find Powell. One of the nearby attendants said that he was being prepped for surgery."
Those words snapped him out of his haze and incensed his anger. "Right." His mind was focused strictly on finding that bastard who had put Neal in this situation in the first place. "Let's get this bastard and throw him back in jail."
"I have a feeling the judge won't feel like accommodating him and his illness this time." Diana murmured as the two crept down the hallway, guns armed and loaded. "Especially when he broke out of the jail and accommodations he asked for."

Which made total sense because it was all explained, of course.

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A nurse in green scrubs was standing outside of a closed door, looking around in confusion and worry. It seemed like she was straining to hear any of the commotion located down the hallways. Her eyes widened when she saw the FBI embossed vests.
"Miss," Peter said, lowering his gun. "We have a warrant to search the premise and search for the escaped convict and kidnapper Maxwell Powell."
"Oh," the woman was obviously flustered, "The uh d-doctors are prepping him for surgery." She turned and opened the handle, ushering the man and woman inside the sterilized room.
The entered, announcing their presence and clearly startling the attending doctors. One even dropped a scalpel on the floor.

OH NOES!

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"This surgery is off.

“Cos I said so.”

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Wake him up." Peter commanded, gesturing at the man with his gun.

You don’t have to threaten him, Peter, you’re an FBI agent and he is a surgeon. He’ll probably do what you say.

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The doctor pulled down his mask. The room was no longer sterile, so it was quite obvious the surgery wouldn't take place.

But meh, if they’re willing to harvest kidneys what the hell, right?

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"How long will it take for him to wake up from the anesthesia?" Diana asked.
"Not long," a nurse said, taking a step back from the man as she pulled away equipment and the mask covering his face. "We only just sedated him."

Right, yeah. That makes total sense, if you apply the almost exact opposite of what you just said.

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Peter felt an unmistakable feeling of satisfaction after Powell's eyes flickered open, drowsiness falling away into clarity and then fear when he looked at the barrel of a gun. "Hello, Mr. Powell. We meet again."

Do ya feel lucky, punk?


So there you have it. There's a couple more chapters of this last time I checked, but I'm not sure whether or not I'll snark them.