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elrhiarhodanTitle: Someone Your Might Have Been – Part I
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters: Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke, Mozzie, Elizabeth Burke, Diana Berrigan, Clinton Jones, Reese Hughes, Sara Ellis
Spoilers/Episode References: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Angst
Word Count: ~24,000 (Three Parts). Part Two will be published on Thursday, 5/12/11 and Part III on Friday, 5/13/11.
Summary: The anklet comes off, and all of Neal’s plans, all of Peter’s plans, fall apart after an ill-timed confession. The world is sometimes too big and yet not big enough.
This story was written for the wonderfully generoususakeh, who won a Queensland Relief story. She asked me to write the fic for hoosierbitch, who has been hard at work in grad school.
Many, many thanks to my “Flying Buttresses” - my support community:coffeethyme4me, jrosemary and rabidchild67. Their wisdom, collective and individual, has made this story so much better that it was.
__________________________
_______
The front door closed quietly, the latch sliding into place with a soft click, but it may as well have slammed shut and set the walls rattling. Neal’s departure was an earthquake.
“Elizabeth…” Peter turned to his wife, something like pleading in his voice.
She went to him, wrapping her arms around him, burying her face against his warm, broad chest. He held her close, his own arms tight around her.
“Hon…what just happened?”
“I don’t know – I don’t know.”
One moment, the three of them were cheerfully talking, celebrating Neal’s successful completion of his four years of “probation.” They weren’t drunk – they hadn’t even opened the champagne yet.
The next moment Neal was telling Peter, telling Elizabeth how much he loved them, and how much he was looking forward to their future together. Peter wasn’t even thinking that Neal’s declaration was anything but platonic until he kissed him.
On the mouth.
The kiss wasn’t overly intimate – it was sweet and gentle and respectful, but the intent was clear.
Peter had frozen when Neal’s lips touched his, and he didn’t move when Neal pulled back. He didn’t move when Neal turned to Elizabeth, smiled and said again, “I love you both, so very much.”
It was only when Neal kissed his wife that he was able to take action. He pulled Neal away from his wife like a jealous husband. He was a jealous husband.
Peter couldn’t quite remember what he said, but he’d never forget how quickly Neal’s face lost all color, and then turned bright red.
“I never … I would never... I had no idea.” He was in shock, and couldn’t seem to articulate his feelings.
El sighed. “I did. I’ve wondered.”
He looked at her sharply. “You have?”
“Yeah – even before Sara left. I noticed how he looks to you, looks at you.”
“No – I don’t think so. You’ve got to be, you have to be – you’re wrong.” He shook his head.
“Hon … he does. Clearly.” El shook her head.
“Why?” Peter felt like he was drowning, thrown overboard, into deep water when all he was expecting was dry land. “He flirts with everyone – he’s not serious about anyone. He’s commitment-phobic. Isn’t that why Sara walked?”
“Or maybe he was already committed and was just waiting until he was free to declare his feelings, to go after what he really wanted?” Sadness added an unaccustomed touch of gravity to her tone. “You didn’t have to be so cruel, though. Even if his advances were completely unwelcome, you didn’t have to be so mean to him. What you said was unforgivable.”
Peter was at sea – he couldn’t remember what he said to Neal – everything was caught up in a sense of shock and jealousy.
Elizabeth tossed another bombshell at him – one that wiped all other thoughts from his mind. “I would have been okay with it, you know?”
Peter stared at her. “You want Neal?” He felt a little sick, a little disoriented.
“No, hon, but I would have been okay if you did.” She reached up and stroked his cheek. “What happened tonight wasn’t about me, hon. It was about you.”
Peter didn’t say anything. This was territory he never let himself think about. Ever, because once that genie was out of the bottle, it would never go back in.
There was nothing left to say. Peter got up and took Satchmo for a walk. Elizabeth put away the elaborate dinner she’d made to celebrate Neal’s “release” and his new job with the Bureau.
Neither of them was hungry.
_______
Neal, or more accurately, Julian Drummond, caught the red-eye from New York to London with a connecting flight to Zurich. During the layover, he bought a cell phone and called Moz. Not surprisingly, he didn’t answer. Neal sent him a text telling him to pick up the next time an international number rang through.
He did. “What are you doing in London? You are in London, right?”
“I’m in Heathrow - but not for long.”
It didn’t take the space of two heartbeats for Moz to explode with questions. Neal waited for him to calm down before speaking.
“Moz - I’m sorry, I had to go.” I can’t just be a permanent fixture on the fringe of a life I was never going to have. A life that I am not entitled to.
“And you just had to leave the country without saying goodbye to your friends?”
Neal knew that after everything, that was a shabby and shameful thing to do. “Moz, please understand - I had to go. I had to…”
There was silence on the other end of the line. “Yeah - I understand. How bad was it?”
Neal didn’t want to give Moz the details. “Bad. I fucked up badly. I don’t think I’ve ever made such a colossal mistake.”
“You always were a fool for love, mon frère. Do you want me to do anything?”
Yes he was – a fool, an idiot – and he should have known better, but he had let his hopes and dreams get in the way of the reality of the perfect circle of Peter and Elizabeth.
“Just the plans we’ve put in place. If you still want to do that.”
“Of course I do - how could you think otherwise?”
Neal closed his eyes in gratitude for Mozzie’s unwavering loyalty. “I don’t deserve you.”
“It’s a two-way street, Neal. Don’t worry about it. Is there anything else?”
“Just take care of yourself, Mozzie.”
“You too, Neal.”
He was reluctant to break the connection. “If Peter…” But he didn’t think that Peter would.
“I’ll tell him nothing.”
He closed his eyes in gratitude. “Thank you, Moz. Thank you.”
Moz ended the call, and Neal stood there for a moment, staring at the cellphone screen as it went dark.
The connecting flight took only three hours, but by the time it landed, Neal felt like he had left New York years - maybe decades ago.
There was a time, shortly after he was locked up, when Neal would constantly fantasize about going to Europe. He’d travel in style - first class all the way, never a connecting flight, never a hassle with luggage or the hoi polloi traveling in coach. This trip was the fulfillment of that fantasy - or a part of that fantasy. Of course, in his dreams, Kate was with him. He’d hold her fine-boned little hand through the trip, because she didn’t really like to fly, caressing her knuckles with his thumb, lifting it up to kiss when the plane took off and landed.
But Kate was dead - three years dead and ashes in the wind.
Strangely, Europe never beckoned when he was working for Peter. Neal shut down that train of thought very, very quickly.
Neal had one destination and he wasn’t going to allow himself to be distracted by the city’s many museums and art galleries.
While international political pressure may have loosened the famed confidentiality of Swiss banking laws for their depository accounts, nothing could impact the cloak of secrecy for the safety deposit box holders. Before he had returned to the U.S. to find Kate, before he had fallen into the hands of the FBI, Neal picked a bank that used biometrics, rather than mechanical keys for access to his repository for many of the smaller items that had fallen into his hands and a place to keep a fortune in cash.
He went from the airport directly to the bank. He gave the rather obsequious manager his account number and submitted to the scans. The man then handed him a large, heavy box and Neal was ushered into a small, private room.
Neal ignored the bags of Krugerrands and gemstones and jewelry. There was enough cash in the box that he didn’t need to liquidate them now. He didn’t spare a thought for the archival boxes tucked in the bottom - he knew what was there: a carpet page from an ancient Irish manuscript, a Degas study of ballet dancers, and a very small, very beautiful enameled portrait of an anonymous French noblewoman, which he had stolen from a museum in Orleans only because it reminded him of Kate. All he took was the cash – it would be more than enough to bankroll the new life he was starting as Julian Drummond.
Neal thought about returning the stolen artwork - but that would send up red flags and set the hounds on him. Or maybe just one hound. And he thought that just maybe he could repatriate the portrait, if just to start the chase. But the thought of the disappointment on Peter’s face when he caught him - and he would catch him, because that would be the point of the chase anyway - was enough to make Neal close the box and return it to its slot in the vault.
Neal remained in Zurich only for the time it took to get back to the airport and catch a flight to Paris, to find a way to start a life all over again.
_______
Peter figured that if he gave Neal the time and space of a weekend, he’d get over most of his embarrassment. Of course, there would still be some awkwardness, but if he played it cool – like it never happened – the uncomfortable feelings would dissipate quickly. And truthfully, he needed the weekend too. He needed to think about his reactions - no, not his jealous behavior, but the instant before, when Neal kissed him. How good it felt - how differently he might have reacted if Neal hadn’t turned to Elizabeth. Or maybe not. He had spent the last four years not feeling anything for Neal other than a mild fascination.
Okay, not so mild. But he never let himself act on that interest - it was wrong, improper, insane - and he really had no clue that Neal had any feeling for him, either. That was the most difficult thing of all - how he missed something that was so obvious to Elizabeth.
Apparently he was still completely clueless when it came to human emotion. Pity Neal didn’t hold up a sign that said “I ♥ Peter.”
But on Monday morning, Neal wasn’t in when he arrived. The morning briefing passed and he wasn’t in the office. Peter automatically went to pull up the tracking data, and stopped. There was no data to pull up. He started to call Neal, but got interrupted, or he allowed himself to get interrupted.
There was a preliminary run through for an operation scheduled at eleven, an op that Neal was playing a key part in, but he still hadn’t shown up at work. Hughes made a pointed comment that if this was the behavior that one could expect from Neal Caffrey, free man, maybe they should never have taken the tracker off. At least Hughes didn’t say that the Bureau shouldn’t have hired him.
Peter understood, he really understood – Friday night was embarrassing, but Neal needed to cowboy up and get to work. He didn’t want to think about the apology he owned Neal.
At noon, Peter broke down and called Neal. There was no answer. He sent him a text and an email. At one-thirty, when he hadn’t heard from Neal at all, he called June, but she was out.
By the end of the day, Peter was officially worried. He really didn’t think that Neal would have harmed himself – but he wouldn’t have put it past Neal to do something equally foolish, like drinking himself sick over the weekend.
He called El before heading home for the day. “I’m going to swing by Neal’s – he never showed up for work, and he’s not answering his phone or his messages.”
“You’re just doing this now?” El sounded a little angry at him.
“He’s a grown man – I’m not his keeper.” Not anymore.
“But you’re his friend. Aren’t you?”
“Yes. Of course I am.”
There was silence on the other end of the line, but he could hear her breathing.
“El?”
“Do right by Neal, Peter. He loves you. Make it right.”
Something must have gotten caught in his eye – that was the only explanation for the sudden stinging rush of tears. “Hon... I will.”
“Call me if you need me. If Neal needs me. Please.”
He promised to.
The uptown traffic was horrific. An accident on the West Side Highway made the normally twenty-minute trip to Riverside Drive well over an hour and a half long.
June’s Romanian housekeeper, Marta gave him a funny look when she let him in. But then, she always gave him odd looks. He went right upstairs. Neal’s door was opened and Peter could smell the faintest hint of June’s perfume. She was in the apartment.
“He’s gone, Peter.”
“What?” His heart seemed to skip a beat.
“He left sometime on Friday night.”
“And he hasn’t been back?”
“Neal isn’t coming back.” She handed him a note. “I was away until just a few hours ago and came up to say hello. I found the door opened and the note.”
Peter read it.
June’s voice could have cut glass. “What happened, Peter? I thought he was staying – he had such great plans.”
“I – I don’t …” Peter stopped himself. “We had a misunderstanding – I didn’t think it was serious, but I guess I was wrong.” He was sick at heart, sick to his stomach. “Was this it? Was there another note?”
“No, just this one – and this.” Next to an abandoned cell phone, there was a black leather folder and a set of folded papers. Peter knew exactly what they were – Neal’s new ID and his contract.
“He took nothing with him.” June was puzzled. “Everything I had given him is still here – it’s as if he never was.”
That wasn’t quite true – there was a half finished painting on the easel and a sketchbook resting on the arm of the couch. But still, the room that Peter had spent so many hours in – challenging and satisfying hours – was empty. Neal was gone, and in a way, it was as if he had never been there at all.
The meeting with Hughes the next morning wasn’t pleasant.
“What do you mean that Caffrey’s gone?”
Peter scrubbed his face. “Neal left – for good.” He took out Neal’s ID and contract and gave them to Hughes.
“Why? After everything we went through – after all of the negotiating, the planning and he just up and left? That doesn’t make sense – not even for Caffrey.” To say that Hughes was unhappy was like calling the incident at Chernobyl a minor malfunction.
It would have been too easy for Peter to let Hughes assume that Neal was flighty, that he simply changed his mind. “Don’t blame Neal - it’s not his fault. We had … a disagreement. I made a mistake and thought that if I left Neal alone, let him work through the issue, we’d – he’d be fine. I was wrong.”
Hughes looked at him. He seemed to see everything that Peter wasn’t telling him. “Maybe it’s for the best.”
Peter stared at his boss. “The best?”
Reese took a sip of his coffee. “You’ve become very close. I’ve had concerns for a long time about your ability to remain objective with regards to Mr. Caffrey.” He grimaced, putting down his cup in disgust. “I never really thought he’d make it through the four years – and there were times when it looked like he’d bring you crashing down with him, but you’ve pulled through.”
“If you thought that, why did you back the arrangement to bring Neal on as an analyst?”
“Because he’s nothing short of brilliant, and he helped you maintain at ninety-two percent closure rate.”
“Ninety-three percent. Probably closer to ninety-four, now.”
Hughes hand waved the correction. “He was good for the Bureau and the department – and that’s always going to be my first consideration.” He took the ID and the contract. “I’ll handle the paperwork with the Administrator’s office. Go tell your team that Neal’s gone and start filling in the holes. You’ve still got to run the Arden Securities operation. You’ll need someone to step in.”
They discussed a suitable replacement for Neal as the undercover operative for an insider trading sting for a few minutes before Peter broke the news to his team. Diana waited until the end of the day before cornering him in his office.
“What happened, boss?”
“Neal decided, after everything, that he didn’t want a full time job.” That sounded plausible.
“Bullshit.”
Peter looked up at his senior agent. “Excuse me?”
Diana didn’t flinch at his tone – she never would. “Neal was as eager to start as a newly graduated agent. Hell – maybe more so.”
Peter got up and closed his door. Diana was probably the one person in the office he could share this with. “Have you ever noticed anything about Neal – how he …” Peter tried not to blush. “…Looked at me?” He couldn’t meet Diana’s eyes.
“Like the sun rose and set over your shoulders? Like how you were his sole reason for being? Like how the word of Peter Burke was the word of God?”
Peter was appalled. “How did I not see this?”
“Peter – what happened?”
This time, he couldn’t prevent a heated flush of embarrassment. “Neal kissed me on Friday night. He told me…” He swallowed. “He told me he loved me, that he loved Elizabeth.”
“Ah…”
“Ah? That’s all you have to say is ‘ah’?”
“I thought that might be the case. You didn’t take his declaration too well, I guess.”
“He kissed me.” Peter tried to muster some outrage.
Diana bit her lip. “Did you like it?”
Peter looked at her sharply. “I’m a married man.” He didn’t tell her he kissed El too and he behaved like a jealous ape.
Eyebrows arched, Diana kept after him. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
“I don’t know … yeah, well. Yeah. I liked it.”
Diana just looked at him.
“Even if I was going to act on it – I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. Neal works…” Peter corrected himself, painfully. “Neal worked for me, do you know how many kinds of wrong it would be for me to have an affair with a co-worker.”
“You make it sound like something dirty.”
“It would be … I am married.”
“What if Elizabeth agreed?”
Peter remembered what El said last night – that she wouldn’t have minded. “You’ve discussed this with my wife? You’ve discussed me having a ‘relationship’ with another person with my wife?”
Diana nodded. “It’s come up a couple of times – we’ve had lunch occasionally.”
“I don’t know whether I should be more upset that you and Elizabeth have talked about me having an affair with Neal, or that I had no idea that he had feelings for me.”
Diana grinned at him. “You are so evolved, boss. You don’t seem the least bit freaked out that Neal’s a man.”
Peter scrubbed his face. “Yeah – well … just call me hetero-flexible.” Truthfully, he wasn’t freaked at all. Neal was … Neal. Gorgeous, brilliant, loyal. Neal.
And he was gone.
“Do you want me to see if I can find him?”
“Yes – please.” Peter didn’t know what he was going to do when he caught up with Neal, but the thought of never seeing him again was unbearable. “You have access to his file – run his known aliases. I’ll get in touch with Moz – I can’t imagine that Neal skipped town without talking to him.”
_______
Neal avoided mirrors – or at least, he avoided looking at his face in a mirror. When he did, all he could see was “idiot” or “moron” or “fuck up” tattooed across his forehead. The shame of Peter’s rejection and the complete misunderstanding of his intentions, his feelings, still burned. How could he even begin to think that Peter would have ever entertained any romantic thoughts about him?
Like the blood on Lady MacBeth’s hands, the jailhouse stain was never going to wash off. No matter how much distance he put between himself as he was now and his past, to Peter he was always going to be a dirty criminal, taking something that wasn’t his, something he wasn’t entitled to.
At night, in the luxury hotel room he was staying in, he’d replay the worst moments of the last four years – every time he failed, or let Peter down. He’d break them apart over and over again– like a forensic pathologist, obsessively finding every mistake he made, every single error. They all seemed so obvious now. He lay there, alone, cold, empty and wondered how he ever thought that he and Peter, he and Elizabeth – that they could be them. Like always, he wanted absolution from Peter. This time, though, he wasn’t going to get it.
He knew this was obsessive behavior. He knew he was wallowing. He knew it was unhealthy. But he didn’t stop.
Paris, despite its many museums – some with less than stellar security – didn’t interest him. There was no point in stealing anything – he suspected that Peter had issued a BOLO on him, that the Interpol databases were updated with all of his aliases and a few current photographs were put into circulation now. Besides, it really wasn’t a lot of fun anymore. His original crime spree had been as much about impressing Kate as it had been about the stuff. Nothing he could do now would ever impress Peter - not staying on the straight and narrow, and certainly not stealing and forging and conning and all the other things that once defined him.
Neal, or rather Julian Drummond, moved on. There was simply no one to impress and he couldn’t bring himself to give a rat’s ass about the stuff.
He settled for a while in Monte Carlo. Cash might be king, but it was a finite resource and he needed something to do. He cleared the blackjack tables so consistently that the pit bosses began to think he was cheating. Or card counting. Or both.
Neal switched to high stakes poker – which would have remained his game, but he played so well and won so much that he was approached for one of the televised games. Neal politely declined and left Monaco.
In the six months since he had fled New York in shame, he won several million Euros and it was all meaningless, except as proof of the old adage, lucky at cards, unlucky in love.
He was restless, always looking out for a tall, dark haired man in a bad suit. There was a moment, towards sunset one evening in Venice. Neal had been wandering through the more well-traveled parts of the city, just moving with the crowds of tourists, when he found himself on the Rialto. There was a shout and he instinctively turned. A man in a gray raincoat was heading for him, and for a moment he thought it was Peter. The urge to flee was almost uncontrollable, and he was about to leap over the railing and onto a passing water bus when the man was intercepted by a tall blonde woman who hugged him and he kissed her. Neal watched, frozen, as the couple made their way down the other side of the bridge and disappeared into the mass of people.
No, it wasn’t Peter. It never would be Peter.
_______
After two months of fruitless searches, Diana gave up. “He’s a ghost, boss. He did an outstanding job of melting away. I’ve gone through every alias you gave me, every one we had on file from back when you were first after him. There’s nothing.”
“Put a BOLO out on him - update Interpol, circulate his photo.” Peter ignored the acid rising in his gorge. This was his fault.
“You really think that Neal’s going to go back to the life?”
“I don’t think Neal’s going back what he was before, but…” I need to find him.
Have you talked with the little guy?”
“Moz? Oddly enough - he’s not taking my calls.”
Peter spun around and stared out of the window. It was a dreary November afternoon. He knew the sun was setting because the gray skies were turning to black, even though it was barely four-thirty. “Diana - I don’t know what to do.”
She took sympathy on him. “I don’t think there is anything you can do. Neal made a decision - you’re going to have to accept it.”
“But it was the wrong one - if I hadn’t been so blind - so stupid.” Peter closed his eyes, and he could still feel Neal’s lips press softly against him, he could still hear his words. I love you so much.
“Peter, I’ll keep trying...I’ll see what else I can do.”
He turned back to Diana. “Thank you.”
It was surprising how life went on without Neal. He cultivated other assets, he always did - but none were as brilliant or as versatile as Neal. He looked out over the bullpen, his eyes drawn to the empty desk. If he didn’t bring Neal back soon, he was going to have to turn it over to someone else - there were a new crop of probies coming in and space was limited.
He needed to talk to Moz - he needed to hear from him that Neal was well and truly gone. He called Elizabeth and left her a message, asking her to reach out to Neal’s friend. They had formed such an unlikely friendship - he just hoped it would withstand the broken link.
That night, she didn’t say anything about Moz. Peter knew better than to push.
“Hon?”
He looked up from the files he brought home. Dinner had been quiet - like most meals since Neal left. He wondered when Neal had become the chief topic of conversation in their marriage. Once they got past “how was your day” and whether or not a bill had been paid or something needed fixing, there seemed little to talk about anymore.
“You okay?” El sat down next to him, her smile was sad - sort of like his own heart.
“I’m fine...just fine.”
“Liar.” She rested her head against his shoulder.
“How can you tell?”
“Because I love you.” Four simple words.
They hadn’t ever really talked about that night - nothing beyond what El said to him after Neal walked out.
“How did I not see it? I keep thinking about everything - it all seems so obvious now.”
El looked up at him, blue eyes searching. “You seem more accepting.”
“Neal was - is - my friend. I never let myself think about him otherwise. How could I?”
“But now?”
“Now - I don’t know. I could - it would be so easy.”
“If he walked through that door, what would you do?”
“Tell him I’m sorry and ask if we could start again.” He didn’t have to think twice. “But what about you?”
“What about me?”
“He said he loved you too.”
“Can you deal with that?”
“What do you mean?”
El thought for a moment, as if she was choosing her words carefully. “I like Neal - I always have, and if we had been different people - if you weren’t you and I wasn’t so much in love with you, I would have had no problem with being with Neal, had he offered. But I think that when he said he loves me, it’s doesn’t mean the same thing as what he told you. He doesn’t love me for me. He loves me because I am a part of you.”
_______
It took Peter another agonizingly long two months to get hold of Mozzie. El’s phone calls and messages went unreturned, and Peter spent much of his spare time trying to track Neal’s friend down.
Finally, Moz contacted him - a cryptic message that took him the better part of a day to decipher.
They met in Columbus Park, which was oddly convenient for Peter, but he didn’t press the issue. Despite the elaborate code and the overall difficulty Peter had in getting in touch with Moz, this meeting was surprisingly exposed. The man was sitting at one of the chess tables, a game set up and waiting for an opponent. As Peter approached, Moz waved off a kid who was about to sit down.
“Suit.” Moz nodded and he took a seat. “We meet again.” He gestured to the chess set. “White or black?”
“I’m not in the mood to play games, Moz. Where’s Neal.”
Moz peered at him through his thick glasses. “Why should I tell you, of all people?”
Peter sighed. “Because he’s my friend. I’m worried about him.”
“If Neal was your friend, why did he feel the need to flee so precipitously? Especially after making all of those plans with you?” Moz didn’t disguise the bitterness of his tone.
“You’re not unhappy that he’s gone?” That really wasn’t a question.
“Suit - I never thought the life of a junior G-man was suitable for Neal. But that’s what he wanted. He wanted …” Moz didn’t have to go any further.
“I know what he wanted.”
“Did you have to let him down so harshly? Did you have to humiliate him?”
Mozzie’s words were like hammers on an anvil.
“He caught me by surprise - I don’t even remember what I said to him.” That was Peter’s own shame, his grief. “I’d take it back if I could - every word.”
Moz busied himself with the chess pieces, playing an imaginary game.
“Please - where is he?” Peter knew he was begging and he didn’t care.
“He’s gone. I haven’t heard from him since the day after he left. He called me from an airport.”
“He didn’t come to you to say goodbye?”
“No, Suit, he didn’t. He just left.”
“You really don’t know where he is?” Peter found that rather incredible.
“No - I don’t. And before you ask - I haven’t heard from him since.”
Moz wasn’t lying. He had a tell - whenever he was upset, he started cleaning his glasses, and the way he was going at them now, Peter wouldn’t be surprised if he wiped the prescription off.
“If you do - if you can reach Neal - please tell him I’m sorry. I want him to come home.”
Moz put his glasses back on and stared at Peter. “I’ll consider it.”
Peter got up and was about to leave when he turned back to Moz. “One more thing - my wife - Elizabeth. She misses you - if she calls - call her back.”
Moz bit his lip and nodded. “Okay - yeah. I will. I miss her too.”
Peter went back to the office - it was a remarkably unproductive day. And a remarkably depressing day. He finally had to admit to himself that Neal was gone for good. And he would probably never come back.
He spun his chair around to face away from the rest of the office and let the tears fall.
_______
End Part I | Go to Part II
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters: Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke, Mozzie, Elizabeth Burke, Diana Berrigan, Clinton Jones, Reese Hughes, Sara Ellis
Spoilers/Episode References: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Angst
Word Count: ~24,000 (Three Parts). Part Two will be published on Thursday, 5/12/11 and Part III on Friday, 5/13/11.
Summary: The anklet comes off, and all of Neal’s plans, all of Peter’s plans, fall apart after an ill-timed confession. The world is sometimes too big and yet not big enough.
This story was written for the wonderfully generous
usakeh, who won a Queensland Relief story. She asked me to write the fic for hoosierbitch, who has been hard at work in grad school.Many, many thanks to my “Flying Buttresses” - my support community:
coffeethyme4me, jrosemary and rabidchild67. Their wisdom, collective and individual, has made this story so much better that it was._______
The front door closed quietly, the latch sliding into place with a soft click, but it may as well have slammed shut and set the walls rattling. Neal’s departure was an earthquake.
“Elizabeth…” Peter turned to his wife, something like pleading in his voice.
She went to him, wrapping her arms around him, burying her face against his warm, broad chest. He held her close, his own arms tight around her.
“Hon…what just happened?”
“I don’t know – I don’t know.”
One moment, the three of them were cheerfully talking, celebrating Neal’s successful completion of his four years of “probation.” They weren’t drunk – they hadn’t even opened the champagne yet.
The next moment Neal was telling Peter, telling Elizabeth how much he loved them, and how much he was looking forward to their future together. Peter wasn’t even thinking that Neal’s declaration was anything but platonic until he kissed him.
On the mouth.
The kiss wasn’t overly intimate – it was sweet and gentle and respectful, but the intent was clear.
Peter had frozen when Neal’s lips touched his, and he didn’t move when Neal pulled back. He didn’t move when Neal turned to Elizabeth, smiled and said again, “I love you both, so very much.”
It was only when Neal kissed his wife that he was able to take action. He pulled Neal away from his wife like a jealous husband. He was a jealous husband.
Peter couldn’t quite remember what he said, but he’d never forget how quickly Neal’s face lost all color, and then turned bright red.
“I never … I would never... I had no idea.” He was in shock, and couldn’t seem to articulate his feelings.
El sighed. “I did. I’ve wondered.”
He looked at her sharply. “You have?”
“Yeah – even before Sara left. I noticed how he looks to you, looks at you.”
“No – I don’t think so. You’ve got to be, you have to be – you’re wrong.” He shook his head.
“Hon … he does. Clearly.” El shook her head.
“Why?” Peter felt like he was drowning, thrown overboard, into deep water when all he was expecting was dry land. “He flirts with everyone – he’s not serious about anyone. He’s commitment-phobic. Isn’t that why Sara walked?”
“Or maybe he was already committed and was just waiting until he was free to declare his feelings, to go after what he really wanted?” Sadness added an unaccustomed touch of gravity to her tone. “You didn’t have to be so cruel, though. Even if his advances were completely unwelcome, you didn’t have to be so mean to him. What you said was unforgivable.”
Peter was at sea – he couldn’t remember what he said to Neal – everything was caught up in a sense of shock and jealousy.
Elizabeth tossed another bombshell at him – one that wiped all other thoughts from his mind. “I would have been okay with it, you know?”
Peter stared at her. “You want Neal?” He felt a little sick, a little disoriented.
“No, hon, but I would have been okay if you did.” She reached up and stroked his cheek. “What happened tonight wasn’t about me, hon. It was about you.”
Peter didn’t say anything. This was territory he never let himself think about. Ever, because once that genie was out of the bottle, it would never go back in.
There was nothing left to say. Peter got up and took Satchmo for a walk. Elizabeth put away the elaborate dinner she’d made to celebrate Neal’s “release” and his new job with the Bureau.
Neither of them was hungry.
Neal, or more accurately, Julian Drummond, caught the red-eye from New York to London with a connecting flight to Zurich. During the layover, he bought a cell phone and called Moz. Not surprisingly, he didn’t answer. Neal sent him a text telling him to pick up the next time an international number rang through.
He did. “What are you doing in London? You are in London, right?”
“I’m in Heathrow - but not for long.”
It didn’t take the space of two heartbeats for Moz to explode with questions. Neal waited for him to calm down before speaking.
“Moz - I’m sorry, I had to go.” I can’t just be a permanent fixture on the fringe of a life I was never going to have. A life that I am not entitled to.
“And you just had to leave the country without saying goodbye to your friends?”
Neal knew that after everything, that was a shabby and shameful thing to do. “Moz, please understand - I had to go. I had to…”
There was silence on the other end of the line. “Yeah - I understand. How bad was it?”
Neal didn’t want to give Moz the details. “Bad. I fucked up badly. I don’t think I’ve ever made such a colossal mistake.”
“You always were a fool for love, mon frère. Do you want me to do anything?”
Yes he was – a fool, an idiot – and he should have known better, but he had let his hopes and dreams get in the way of the reality of the perfect circle of Peter and Elizabeth.
“Just the plans we’ve put in place. If you still want to do that.”
“Of course I do - how could you think otherwise?”
Neal closed his eyes in gratitude for Mozzie’s unwavering loyalty. “I don’t deserve you.”
“It’s a two-way street, Neal. Don’t worry about it. Is there anything else?”
“Just take care of yourself, Mozzie.”
“You too, Neal.”
He was reluctant to break the connection. “If Peter…” But he didn’t think that Peter would.
“I’ll tell him nothing.”
He closed his eyes in gratitude. “Thank you, Moz. Thank you.”
Moz ended the call, and Neal stood there for a moment, staring at the cellphone screen as it went dark.
The connecting flight took only three hours, but by the time it landed, Neal felt like he had left New York years - maybe decades ago.
There was a time, shortly after he was locked up, when Neal would constantly fantasize about going to Europe. He’d travel in style - first class all the way, never a connecting flight, never a hassle with luggage or the hoi polloi traveling in coach. This trip was the fulfillment of that fantasy - or a part of that fantasy. Of course, in his dreams, Kate was with him. He’d hold her fine-boned little hand through the trip, because she didn’t really like to fly, caressing her knuckles with his thumb, lifting it up to kiss when the plane took off and landed.
But Kate was dead - three years dead and ashes in the wind.
Strangely, Europe never beckoned when he was working for Peter. Neal shut down that train of thought very, very quickly.
Neal had one destination and he wasn’t going to allow himself to be distracted by the city’s many museums and art galleries.
While international political pressure may have loosened the famed confidentiality of Swiss banking laws for their depository accounts, nothing could impact the cloak of secrecy for the safety deposit box holders. Before he had returned to the U.S. to find Kate, before he had fallen into the hands of the FBI, Neal picked a bank that used biometrics, rather than mechanical keys for access to his repository for many of the smaller items that had fallen into his hands and a place to keep a fortune in cash.
He went from the airport directly to the bank. He gave the rather obsequious manager his account number and submitted to the scans. The man then handed him a large, heavy box and Neal was ushered into a small, private room.
Neal ignored the bags of Krugerrands and gemstones and jewelry. There was enough cash in the box that he didn’t need to liquidate them now. He didn’t spare a thought for the archival boxes tucked in the bottom - he knew what was there: a carpet page from an ancient Irish manuscript, a Degas study of ballet dancers, and a very small, very beautiful enameled portrait of an anonymous French noblewoman, which he had stolen from a museum in Orleans only because it reminded him of Kate. All he took was the cash – it would be more than enough to bankroll the new life he was starting as Julian Drummond.
Neal thought about returning the stolen artwork - but that would send up red flags and set the hounds on him. Or maybe just one hound. And he thought that just maybe he could repatriate the portrait, if just to start the chase. But the thought of the disappointment on Peter’s face when he caught him - and he would catch him, because that would be the point of the chase anyway - was enough to make Neal close the box and return it to its slot in the vault.
Neal remained in Zurich only for the time it took to get back to the airport and catch a flight to Paris, to find a way to start a life all over again.
Peter figured that if he gave Neal the time and space of a weekend, he’d get over most of his embarrassment. Of course, there would still be some awkwardness, but if he played it cool – like it never happened – the uncomfortable feelings would dissipate quickly. And truthfully, he needed the weekend too. He needed to think about his reactions - no, not his jealous behavior, but the instant before, when Neal kissed him. How good it felt - how differently he might have reacted if Neal hadn’t turned to Elizabeth. Or maybe not. He had spent the last four years not feeling anything for Neal other than a mild fascination.
Okay, not so mild. But he never let himself act on that interest - it was wrong, improper, insane - and he really had no clue that Neal had any feeling for him, either. That was the most difficult thing of all - how he missed something that was so obvious to Elizabeth.
Apparently he was still completely clueless when it came to human emotion. Pity Neal didn’t hold up a sign that said “I ♥ Peter.”
But on Monday morning, Neal wasn’t in when he arrived. The morning briefing passed and he wasn’t in the office. Peter automatically went to pull up the tracking data, and stopped. There was no data to pull up. He started to call Neal, but got interrupted, or he allowed himself to get interrupted.
There was a preliminary run through for an operation scheduled at eleven, an op that Neal was playing a key part in, but he still hadn’t shown up at work. Hughes made a pointed comment that if this was the behavior that one could expect from Neal Caffrey, free man, maybe they should never have taken the tracker off. At least Hughes didn’t say that the Bureau shouldn’t have hired him.
Peter understood, he really understood – Friday night was embarrassing, but Neal needed to cowboy up and get to work. He didn’t want to think about the apology he owned Neal.
At noon, Peter broke down and called Neal. There was no answer. He sent him a text and an email. At one-thirty, when he hadn’t heard from Neal at all, he called June, but she was out.
By the end of the day, Peter was officially worried. He really didn’t think that Neal would have harmed himself – but he wouldn’t have put it past Neal to do something equally foolish, like drinking himself sick over the weekend.
He called El before heading home for the day. “I’m going to swing by Neal’s – he never showed up for work, and he’s not answering his phone or his messages.”
“You’re just doing this now?” El sounded a little angry at him.
“He’s a grown man – I’m not his keeper.” Not anymore.
“But you’re his friend. Aren’t you?”
“Yes. Of course I am.”
There was silence on the other end of the line, but he could hear her breathing.
“El?”
“Do right by Neal, Peter. He loves you. Make it right.”
Something must have gotten caught in his eye – that was the only explanation for the sudden stinging rush of tears. “Hon... I will.”
“Call me if you need me. If Neal needs me. Please.”
He promised to.
The uptown traffic was horrific. An accident on the West Side Highway made the normally twenty-minute trip to Riverside Drive well over an hour and a half long.
June’s Romanian housekeeper, Marta gave him a funny look when she let him in. But then, she always gave him odd looks. He went right upstairs. Neal’s door was opened and Peter could smell the faintest hint of June’s perfume. She was in the apartment.
“He’s gone, Peter.”
“What?” His heart seemed to skip a beat.
“He left sometime on Friday night.”
“And he hasn’t been back?”
“Neal isn’t coming back.” She handed him a note. “I was away until just a few hours ago and came up to say hello. I found the door opened and the note.”
Peter read it.
June – My time here is done. I am sorry I can’t stay and say goodbye in person, but I need to leave now. Thank you for everything.
Love, Neal
Love, Neal
June’s voice could have cut glass. “What happened, Peter? I thought he was staying – he had such great plans.”
“I – I don’t …” Peter stopped himself. “We had a misunderstanding – I didn’t think it was serious, but I guess I was wrong.” He was sick at heart, sick to his stomach. “Was this it? Was there another note?”
“No, just this one – and this.” Next to an abandoned cell phone, there was a black leather folder and a set of folded papers. Peter knew exactly what they were – Neal’s new ID and his contract.
“He took nothing with him.” June was puzzled. “Everything I had given him is still here – it’s as if he never was.”
That wasn’t quite true – there was a half finished painting on the easel and a sketchbook resting on the arm of the couch. But still, the room that Peter had spent so many hours in – challenging and satisfying hours – was empty. Neal was gone, and in a way, it was as if he had never been there at all.
The meeting with Hughes the next morning wasn’t pleasant.
“What do you mean that Caffrey’s gone?”
Peter scrubbed his face. “Neal left – for good.” He took out Neal’s ID and contract and gave them to Hughes.
“Why? After everything we went through – after all of the negotiating, the planning and he just up and left? That doesn’t make sense – not even for Caffrey.” To say that Hughes was unhappy was like calling the incident at Chernobyl a minor malfunction.
It would have been too easy for Peter to let Hughes assume that Neal was flighty, that he simply changed his mind. “Don’t blame Neal - it’s not his fault. We had … a disagreement. I made a mistake and thought that if I left Neal alone, let him work through the issue, we’d – he’d be fine. I was wrong.”
Hughes looked at him. He seemed to see everything that Peter wasn’t telling him. “Maybe it’s for the best.”
Peter stared at his boss. “The best?”
Reese took a sip of his coffee. “You’ve become very close. I’ve had concerns for a long time about your ability to remain objective with regards to Mr. Caffrey.” He grimaced, putting down his cup in disgust. “I never really thought he’d make it through the four years – and there were times when it looked like he’d bring you crashing down with him, but you’ve pulled through.”
“If you thought that, why did you back the arrangement to bring Neal on as an analyst?”
“Because he’s nothing short of brilliant, and he helped you maintain at ninety-two percent closure rate.”
“Ninety-three percent. Probably closer to ninety-four, now.”
Hughes hand waved the correction. “He was good for the Bureau and the department – and that’s always going to be my first consideration.” He took the ID and the contract. “I’ll handle the paperwork with the Administrator’s office. Go tell your team that Neal’s gone and start filling in the holes. You’ve still got to run the Arden Securities operation. You’ll need someone to step in.”
They discussed a suitable replacement for Neal as the undercover operative for an insider trading sting for a few minutes before Peter broke the news to his team. Diana waited until the end of the day before cornering him in his office.
“What happened, boss?”
“Neal decided, after everything, that he didn’t want a full time job.” That sounded plausible.
“Bullshit.”
Peter looked up at his senior agent. “Excuse me?”
Diana didn’t flinch at his tone – she never would. “Neal was as eager to start as a newly graduated agent. Hell – maybe more so.”
Peter got up and closed his door. Diana was probably the one person in the office he could share this with. “Have you ever noticed anything about Neal – how he …” Peter tried not to blush. “…Looked at me?” He couldn’t meet Diana’s eyes.
“Like the sun rose and set over your shoulders? Like how you were his sole reason for being? Like how the word of Peter Burke was the word of God?”
Peter was appalled. “How did I not see this?”
“Peter – what happened?”
This time, he couldn’t prevent a heated flush of embarrassment. “Neal kissed me on Friday night. He told me…” He swallowed. “He told me he loved me, that he loved Elizabeth.”
“Ah…”
“Ah? That’s all you have to say is ‘ah’?”
“I thought that might be the case. You didn’t take his declaration too well, I guess.”
“He kissed me.” Peter tried to muster some outrage.
Diana bit her lip. “Did you like it?”
Peter looked at her sharply. “I’m a married man.” He didn’t tell her he kissed El too and he behaved like a jealous ape.
Eyebrows arched, Diana kept after him. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
“I don’t know … yeah, well. Yeah. I liked it.”
Diana just looked at him.
“Even if I was going to act on it – I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. Neal works…” Peter corrected himself, painfully. “Neal worked for me, do you know how many kinds of wrong it would be for me to have an affair with a co-worker.”
“You make it sound like something dirty.”
“It would be … I am married.”
“What if Elizabeth agreed?”
Peter remembered what El said last night – that she wouldn’t have minded. “You’ve discussed this with my wife? You’ve discussed me having a ‘relationship’ with another person with my wife?”
Diana nodded. “It’s come up a couple of times – we’ve had lunch occasionally.”
“I don’t know whether I should be more upset that you and Elizabeth have talked about me having an affair with Neal, or that I had no idea that he had feelings for me.”
Diana grinned at him. “You are so evolved, boss. You don’t seem the least bit freaked out that Neal’s a man.”
Peter scrubbed his face. “Yeah – well … just call me hetero-flexible.” Truthfully, he wasn’t freaked at all. Neal was … Neal. Gorgeous, brilliant, loyal. Neal.
And he was gone.
“Do you want me to see if I can find him?”
“Yes – please.” Peter didn’t know what he was going to do when he caught up with Neal, but the thought of never seeing him again was unbearable. “You have access to his file – run his known aliases. I’ll get in touch with Moz – I can’t imagine that Neal skipped town without talking to him.”
Neal avoided mirrors – or at least, he avoided looking at his face in a mirror. When he did, all he could see was “idiot” or “moron” or “fuck up” tattooed across his forehead. The shame of Peter’s rejection and the complete misunderstanding of his intentions, his feelings, still burned. How could he even begin to think that Peter would have ever entertained any romantic thoughts about him?
Like the blood on Lady MacBeth’s hands, the jailhouse stain was never going to wash off. No matter how much distance he put between himself as he was now and his past, to Peter he was always going to be a dirty criminal, taking something that wasn’t his, something he wasn’t entitled to.
At night, in the luxury hotel room he was staying in, he’d replay the worst moments of the last four years – every time he failed, or let Peter down. He’d break them apart over and over again– like a forensic pathologist, obsessively finding every mistake he made, every single error. They all seemed so obvious now. He lay there, alone, cold, empty and wondered how he ever thought that he and Peter, he and Elizabeth – that they could be them. Like always, he wanted absolution from Peter. This time, though, he wasn’t going to get it.
He knew this was obsessive behavior. He knew he was wallowing. He knew it was unhealthy. But he didn’t stop.
Paris, despite its many museums – some with less than stellar security – didn’t interest him. There was no point in stealing anything – he suspected that Peter had issued a BOLO on him, that the Interpol databases were updated with all of his aliases and a few current photographs were put into circulation now. Besides, it really wasn’t a lot of fun anymore. His original crime spree had been as much about impressing Kate as it had been about the stuff. Nothing he could do now would ever impress Peter - not staying on the straight and narrow, and certainly not stealing and forging and conning and all the other things that once defined him.
Neal, or rather Julian Drummond, moved on. There was simply no one to impress and he couldn’t bring himself to give a rat’s ass about the stuff.
He settled for a while in Monte Carlo. Cash might be king, but it was a finite resource and he needed something to do. He cleared the blackjack tables so consistently that the pit bosses began to think he was cheating. Or card counting. Or both.
Neal switched to high stakes poker – which would have remained his game, but he played so well and won so much that he was approached for one of the televised games. Neal politely declined and left Monaco.
In the six months since he had fled New York in shame, he won several million Euros and it was all meaningless, except as proof of the old adage, lucky at cards, unlucky in love.
He was restless, always looking out for a tall, dark haired man in a bad suit. There was a moment, towards sunset one evening in Venice. Neal had been wandering through the more well-traveled parts of the city, just moving with the crowds of tourists, when he found himself on the Rialto. There was a shout and he instinctively turned. A man in a gray raincoat was heading for him, and for a moment he thought it was Peter. The urge to flee was almost uncontrollable, and he was about to leap over the railing and onto a passing water bus when the man was intercepted by a tall blonde woman who hugged him and he kissed her. Neal watched, frozen, as the couple made their way down the other side of the bridge and disappeared into the mass of people.
No, it wasn’t Peter. It never would be Peter.
After two months of fruitless searches, Diana gave up. “He’s a ghost, boss. He did an outstanding job of melting away. I’ve gone through every alias you gave me, every one we had on file from back when you were first after him. There’s nothing.”
“Put a BOLO out on him - update Interpol, circulate his photo.” Peter ignored the acid rising in his gorge. This was his fault.
“You really think that Neal’s going to go back to the life?”
“I don’t think Neal’s going back what he was before, but…” I need to find him.
Have you talked with the little guy?”
“Moz? Oddly enough - he’s not taking my calls.”
Peter spun around and stared out of the window. It was a dreary November afternoon. He knew the sun was setting because the gray skies were turning to black, even though it was barely four-thirty. “Diana - I don’t know what to do.”
She took sympathy on him. “I don’t think there is anything you can do. Neal made a decision - you’re going to have to accept it.”
“But it was the wrong one - if I hadn’t been so blind - so stupid.” Peter closed his eyes, and he could still feel Neal’s lips press softly against him, he could still hear his words. I love you so much.
“Peter, I’ll keep trying...I’ll see what else I can do.”
He turned back to Diana. “Thank you.”
It was surprising how life went on without Neal. He cultivated other assets, he always did - but none were as brilliant or as versatile as Neal. He looked out over the bullpen, his eyes drawn to the empty desk. If he didn’t bring Neal back soon, he was going to have to turn it over to someone else - there were a new crop of probies coming in and space was limited.
He needed to talk to Moz - he needed to hear from him that Neal was well and truly gone. He called Elizabeth and left her a message, asking her to reach out to Neal’s friend. They had formed such an unlikely friendship - he just hoped it would withstand the broken link.
That night, she didn’t say anything about Moz. Peter knew better than to push.
“Hon?”
He looked up from the files he brought home. Dinner had been quiet - like most meals since Neal left. He wondered when Neal had become the chief topic of conversation in their marriage. Once they got past “how was your day” and whether or not a bill had been paid or something needed fixing, there seemed little to talk about anymore.
“You okay?” El sat down next to him, her smile was sad - sort of like his own heart.
“I’m fine...just fine.”
“Liar.” She rested her head against his shoulder.
“How can you tell?”
“Because I love you.” Four simple words.
They hadn’t ever really talked about that night - nothing beyond what El said to him after Neal walked out.
“How did I not see it? I keep thinking about everything - it all seems so obvious now.”
El looked up at him, blue eyes searching. “You seem more accepting.”
“Neal was - is - my friend. I never let myself think about him otherwise. How could I?”
“But now?”
“Now - I don’t know. I could - it would be so easy.”
“If he walked through that door, what would you do?”
“Tell him I’m sorry and ask if we could start again.” He didn’t have to think twice. “But what about you?”
“What about me?”
“He said he loved you too.”
“Can you deal with that?”
“What do you mean?”
El thought for a moment, as if she was choosing her words carefully. “I like Neal - I always have, and if we had been different people - if you weren’t you and I wasn’t so much in love with you, I would have had no problem with being with Neal, had he offered. But I think that when he said he loves me, it’s doesn’t mean the same thing as what he told you. He doesn’t love me for me. He loves me because I am a part of you.”
It took Peter another agonizingly long two months to get hold of Mozzie. El’s phone calls and messages went unreturned, and Peter spent much of his spare time trying to track Neal’s friend down.
Finally, Moz contacted him - a cryptic message that took him the better part of a day to decipher.
They met in Columbus Park, which was oddly convenient for Peter, but he didn’t press the issue. Despite the elaborate code and the overall difficulty Peter had in getting in touch with Moz, this meeting was surprisingly exposed. The man was sitting at one of the chess tables, a game set up and waiting for an opponent. As Peter approached, Moz waved off a kid who was about to sit down.
“Suit.” Moz nodded and he took a seat. “We meet again.” He gestured to the chess set. “White or black?”
“I’m not in the mood to play games, Moz. Where’s Neal.”
Moz peered at him through his thick glasses. “Why should I tell you, of all people?”
Peter sighed. “Because he’s my friend. I’m worried about him.”
“If Neal was your friend, why did he feel the need to flee so precipitously? Especially after making all of those plans with you?” Moz didn’t disguise the bitterness of his tone.
“You’re not unhappy that he’s gone?” That really wasn’t a question.
“Suit - I never thought the life of a junior G-man was suitable for Neal. But that’s what he wanted. He wanted …” Moz didn’t have to go any further.
“I know what he wanted.”
“Did you have to let him down so harshly? Did you have to humiliate him?”
Mozzie’s words were like hammers on an anvil.
“He caught me by surprise - I don’t even remember what I said to him.” That was Peter’s own shame, his grief. “I’d take it back if I could - every word.”
Moz busied himself with the chess pieces, playing an imaginary game.
“Please - where is he?” Peter knew he was begging and he didn’t care.
“He’s gone. I haven’t heard from him since the day after he left. He called me from an airport.”
“He didn’t come to you to say goodbye?”
“No, Suit, he didn’t. He just left.”
“You really don’t know where he is?” Peter found that rather incredible.
“No - I don’t. And before you ask - I haven’t heard from him since.”
Moz wasn’t lying. He had a tell - whenever he was upset, he started cleaning his glasses, and the way he was going at them now, Peter wouldn’t be surprised if he wiped the prescription off.
“If you do - if you can reach Neal - please tell him I’m sorry. I want him to come home.”
Moz put his glasses back on and stared at Peter. “I’ll consider it.”
Peter got up and was about to leave when he turned back to Moz. “One more thing - my wife - Elizabeth. She misses you - if she calls - call her back.”
Moz bit his lip and nodded. “Okay - yeah. I will. I miss her too.”
Peter went back to the office - it was a remarkably unproductive day. And a remarkably depressing day. He finally had to admit to himself that Neal was gone for good. And he would probably never come back.
He spun his chair around to face away from the rest of the office and let the tears fall.
End Part I | Go to Part II
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Date: 2011-05-11 07:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-12 11:18 pm (UTC)Thank you so much for reading and letting me know you are enjoying it. Part II is up now, and I'll post part III tomorrow afternoon.
Classes are done for now?
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Date: 2011-05-11 08:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-12 11:20 pm (UTC)Part II is up now, part III tomorrow!
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Date: 2011-05-11 08:25 pm (UTC)FIX. IT. O_O Soon. ;_;
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Date: 2011-05-12 11:22 pm (UTC)El is, as always, the emotional adult in this relationship - whatever it becomes.
I've learned my lesson about posting works in progress - the second part is up, and the final part will be posted tomorrow. I do hope you read through to the end.
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Date: 2011-05-13 01:13 am (UTC)*toddles off to read Part 2*
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Date: 2011-05-11 08:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-12 11:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-12 12:45 am (UTC)My time here is done Neal is even elegant in sorrow.
And, everyone's reaction from June iciness, to El's support yet bluntness, to Diana's loyalty, to Mozzie's concern, to Peter's utter dispair is amazing.
So glad it is all done and we just wait for the posts!!!!
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Date: 2011-05-12 11:25 pm (UTC)Thank you!
Part II is up and Part III (the conclusion will be posted tomorrow).
no subject
Date: 2011-05-12 01:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-12 11:36 pm (UTC)I've learned my lesson about not posting stories that haven't been finished. I hate reading them, too!
The second part has been posted and the third will be up on Friday.
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Date: 2011-05-12 02:11 am (UTC)Well done, bb.
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Date: 2011-05-12 11:41 pm (UTC)Part II is up now - I hope you'll enjoy it just as much.
BTW - have not forgotten your Queensland fic. I want to do something awesome for you - so I'm just searching for the right "hook".
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Date: 2011-05-13 02:36 am (UTC)Fandom friends rule.
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Date: 2011-05-12 03:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-12 11:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-12 06:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-12 05:04 pm (UTC)I will admit that at first reading, this didn't make me cry, mostly because right now I'm running on adrenaline from just getting back to work after 3 days of sick. I will give it a re-read tonight and see how hard you make me cry then. :-)
The thing that I really enjoyed the most was Diana's conversation with Peter. I loved that she called "Bullshit" on him. The student teaching the teacher something is always a plot device I love. And Diana is perfect in that role. He trusts her, I think even more than he trusts Neal. He trusts Neal, but there is always that wondering if... Diana is a complete straight shooter and because she trusts Peter in the same "down to the bone" way, they both can be honest without worrying about misunderstanding.
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Date: 2011-05-12 07:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-13 07:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-14 06:36 am (UTC)I love the way you make Peter flawed here. And I love Diana here too.
And Julian Drummond is SO a name Neal would pick.
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Date: 2011-05-14 03:05 pm (UTC)*reads on*
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Date: 2011-05-15 05:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-09 04:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-17 08:14 pm (UTC)Some one you might have been. Part I
Date: 2013-01-23 05:13 pm (UTC)On the other hand, i like the angst. I like that it made me cry. And i am lookimg forward to their meeting and happy ending!
no subject
Date: 2017-02-26 04:47 pm (UTC)