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elrhiarhodanTitle: Keep the Creatures Safe From Harm – Part One/Four
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke, Reese Hughes, Diana Berrigan, Clinton Jones, Mozzie, June Ellington, Amanda Calloway, OMC, OFC
Spoilers: All of Season 4, Specifically In the Wind
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Prison Fic, Dub-Con, Violence, First Time fic, Angst,
Word Count: ~28,000 Total
Beta Credit:coffeethyme4me, jrosemary, rabidchild67
Summary: Following the tragic events at the end of In the Wind, Peter is facing the ultimate penalty and Neal is prepared to do whatever it takes to keep that from happening. Even as old enemies are sharpening their knives, Peter and Neal are not without friends.
A/N: Many, many thanks to my trio of beta readers and cheerleaders, who gave unstintingly of their time as this turned from a vague idea for some dirty prison fic into a massive and angst-ridden epic. And my deepest appreciation to the ladies of the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
wcwu chats, whose enthusiasm for this story boosted my confidence and kept me going.
Title from Oysterband’s “Put Out the Lights”.
__________________
“Bail is denied.” The judge bangs his gavel and the guard pulls him away. Peter doesn’t resist, he’s too stunned.
His lawyer, Claude, is a seasoned professional. He assures him that they will file a motion for reconsideration before the end of the day. Claire Bainbridge, the Assistant U.S. Attorney, a woman he’s known for a half-dozen years and someone he considers a friend, refuses to meet his eyes. El manages to hold him for a too-brief second. Over her head, he sees Diana and Clinton, they are furious. So is the rest of his team, lined up behind them.
And there is Neal – blue eyes blazing, icy pale. He’s ready to …
“No – don’t,” Peter shakes his head. Neal is going to fall on his sword, take the blame, but it will only make this worse. He’ll get out of this. He has to.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Neal plots and paces. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.
He makes plans to break Peter out. He works out how he and Moz could get him on a plane to Cape Verde. That would be the best place for him. No extradition, after all.
He thinks about how to get his father – how to get James Bennett (that fucking bastard) – to confess to shooting Pratt. He remembers the moment when James turned to leave, when he barked at him, NO, and he remembers other moments, long buried: his mother crying in the darkness, a man shouting, the sounds of a hand hitting flesh.
Those memories explain the shock at the moment.
anger and fear – hide, keep quiet, no one will find you
They could be his memories, they could be something else. He doesn’t know and it doesn’t matter. James is in the wind, he’s gone. Pratt’s gun is gone.
Peter’s gone.
Nothing matters more than saving Peter – his life, his sanity, his soul. His own life isn’t worth anything if Peter isn’t in this world.
Neal knows what he has to do.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
The first night in prison, Peter doesn’t sleep. He’s hyper-aware, conscious of every sound, every movement. There are guards stationed on either side of his cell door. He’s a Fed, a target, and they are supposed to make sure no one tries anything. Except that guards can be paid off and he could easily end up hanging from the pipes above his head.
He shakes his head, as if the motion can derail the bleakness of his thoughts.
He’s going to get out of this – Neal will find James, he’ll get the man to turn himself in. Peter will be there to testify that James fired in self-defense, that he didn’t intend to kill Pratt. But even as he runs through the scenario in his head, he can hear how the prosecution will spin it. He was conspiring with James to get the evidence box, to smear the Senator, and when there was nothing in the box, James shot the man in anger and Peter was covering for him.
Claire, the AUSA, isn’t happy how this case is being handled, but she can’t do anything at the moment. Her boss is ambitious and likes the headlines and tells her to be aggressive. Even so, she’s amenable to a reasonable bail request, but the judge decides that the crime was so heinous that Peter needs to be locked away. He is also, apparently, a flight risk (given his jaunt off the reservation to retrieve Neal), and his repeated association with known felons (also Neal, and now James) makes it impossible to grant bail.
And besides, won’t the U.S. Attorney’s office be pushing for the death penalty?
Peter can still hear the gasps from the gallery: El’s, Neal’s, his team’s. Peter supposes that the judge is – or now, more accurately, was – in Pratt’s pocket and he’s pissed off at losing a patron. He should remember to tell his attorney that.
It’s an interesting conundrum. The law says he is innocent until proven guilty, but he’s being treated as if his guilt has already been proven beyond a reasonable doubt.
The prison isn’t a quiet place, even at night after lockdown. There are the steady footfalls of the guards as they make their rounds. The pipes buried in the walls and floors are noisy. And there’s the ever-present hum and whine of human misery.
No, Peter doesn’t sleep. How can he?
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
“Agent Calloway.” Neal doesn’t bother to knock on her office door. She looks way too comfortable, way too smug.
“Mr. Caffrey – good of you to show up. I sent you a message requiring your presence four hours ago. This is the FBI, not some cushy gig where you can come and go as you please. Whatever arrangement you had with Peter Burke is over. You’ll work with me, and I suggest that if you don’t want me to summon the Marshals to take you back to prison, you respond a little more promptly.”
He even hates the sound of her voice – magnolias and treachery. “Actually, that’s exactly what I want you to do. I’m going to make things easy for you. My contract with the Bureau has a withdrawal clause that lets me terminate my deal at any time.”
“You want to go back to prison?” Calloway’s incredulous.
Neal swallows against his nausea – there’s a life at stake and he has to execute this con perfectly. “No, but I won’t work for you.”
“Hmmm.” She gives him a look. “But I like the idea of the having you work for me. You’re smart. You know how to play both sides of the system. I think we’ll be a very effective team, you and me.” She leans back in her chair, smug.
Neal’s comeback is quick, “I’d sooner work for Kimberly Rice than for you.”
“Ah, yes – Agent Rice. I know all about your work with her. She set you up with a sociopathic kidnapper who wanted to kill you. I admire that kind of ambition.”
“I’m not surprised. But I’m not going to work for you. I’m going to go back to Sing-Sing to serve out the rest of my term.”
“I don’t think so, Caffrey.”
“It’s too late. I’ve already contacted the Marshals.”
Calloway picks up the phone; it’s clear she’s going to get his decision countermanded – or try to. He listens as she presents her case; it’s obvious that she never expected this play. But she does know how to negotiate and compromise, despite the rising aggravation in her voice. Just like he hoped.
“Okay – I can’t stop you from taking him back into custody, but you’re not taking him to Sing-Sing. I want a Morrissey Hearing for him, and I want him local. You know what, put Caffrey in with Burke at Metropolitan Correctional. Maybe he can talk some sense into him.”
She hangs up the phone and looks at him like he’s crazy. Maybe he is, but that won’t stop him.
“If you change your mind, if you want to come and work for me – just say the word. No need to keep your wagon hitched to a falling star.”
Neal doesn’t smile. He doesn’t smirk. He doesn’t give away a single emotion. He’s just pulled off his greatest con ever and his face is a blank. He’ll celebrate when Peter is freed and his name is cleared.
And maybe he’ll celebrate again when they escort his father to the electric chair.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Word gets out pretty quickly that there’s a Fed in the pen (not that the Metropolitan Correctional Facility is a penitentiary, but it’s certainly more of a prison than a jail). Peter knows he’s got to watch his back, even as he’s escorted by two guards into the prison showers.
He can’t help but think about Neal and how he coped when he was sent to prison. Peter knows that while Neal had wit and charm and used those assets to their fullest potential when he was in Sing-Sing, he also had to have had outside help. Peter has long suspected that Moz arranged for payoffs and protection. Because wit and charm only get you so far when faced with convicts working on life sentences and nothing to lose.
Right now, Peter wishes he had a Moz of his own. The guards have given him some “privacy” but that’s probably code that a payoff’s been made from the right people (or the wrong people, when you think about it). Two men, then a third, emerge from the steam – he recognizes one of them.
It’s Robert MacLeish, once known to the glittering throngs on Cape Verde as Henry Dobbs. Peter’s surprised and not surprised by this encounter. He’s always known that MacLeish was here, pending his trial on dozens of major financial felonies, but he didn’t expect to encounter him quite so soon.
“I couldn’t believe it when I heard you were here. How the high and mighty Peter Burke has fallen.”
Now Peter’s surprised. It was Collins who took MacLeish into custody. They had little contact once the jet left Praia.
“I’ve spent my time learning about the man who brought me down – it wasn’t James Maine, or whatever his name is – and it wasn’t that putz Kyle Collins. It was you, the White Collar division’s golden boy. The agent with the highest closure rate in the Bureau. The one who’s so fucking good that when he goes against direct orders to retrieve his CI, he still manages to bag one of the FBI’s Most Wanted.”
“I’m flattered.”
“Don’t be.”
“I’ve been here less than twelve hours; the prison grapevine’s way too efficient,” Peter replies. He wonders if he’s going to make it out of this alive.
“It’s better than Facebook.” MacLeish gestures to his two thugs and they grab his arms, or try to. There’s no way that Peter’s going down without a fight. He gets his punches in and takes a few, too.
Maybe the guards do have a conscience after all, because someone pulls the thug off of Peter and shoves him against the tile. MacLeish, of course, disappears like he never was.
At least no one kicked him. He’ll be okay. He touches his face – his cheek’s already swollen and he can taste blood.
El’s going to be so pissed when she sees him.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Diana watches the interaction between Calloway and Neal. Neal’s up to something, he’s got a plan in the works and he’s playing Calloway like a Stradivarius. She knows Neal, she knows his body language, how he leans in just so, how he smiles and tilts his head and convinces you that you really want to do exactly what he wants you to do.
She also knows when Neal’s running on fumes, when he’s using everything he’s got and there are no reserves left. That’s when Caffrey’s the most dangerous. To himself and to those around him. Whatever con he’s running on Calloway, it’s make or break time and it’s a good thing that their erstwhile SAIC doesn’t know Neal all that well. Or she’d see right through him.
There’s a phone conversation and Neal turns his back on Calloway. He’s looking down at the bullpen, but Diana can’t catch his gaze. But whatever rig he’s running must have paid off. Neal’s posture relaxes just a bit and he’s all smiles when he turns around. A few moments later, he leaves her office and comes downstairs.
“Any word on Bennett?”
Diana thinks it’s interesting that Neal doesn’t call the man by any other name. She tells him, “No. But we do have an APB out at Penn Station, the Port Authority and the airports. Do you have ideas where he might go?”
Neal gives her an address in New Jersey. “I don’t think he’d head back there, but it’s one of Mozzie’s safe houses – it’s where we stashed him.” As if he were a crate full of stolen treasure.
“We’ll take a look. There’s nothing he’s ever said to you about places in New York that he liked?”
“No – he didn’t talk much about himself; he only told me what I wanted to hear.”
Diana understands the bitterness.
There’s a commotion at the front door. Three men and a woman in navy windbreakers emblazoned with “U.S. Marshal” are muscling their way into the office. Their eyes scan the room, zeroing in on Neal.
“Caffrey?”
He gives them a wave. “I’ve been here, waiting patiently for you to show up.”
Diana watches, appalled, as they cuff him. She tries to intervene, but Neal shrugs her off. “Someone’s got to watch Peter’s back in there.”
Neal gives the office one last look – there’s no fear in his eyes. No regret either. Just resignation. When he looks up at Calloway, standing on the balcony, Diana sees that resignation turn into something else – triumph. This was the con Neal was running on Calloway.
She wants to cheer and she wants to stop him from doing this. She does neither, just stands there like an honor guard as the Marshals escort Neal away.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
“We’ve filed the motion for reconsideration.”
“I can hear a huge ‘but’ hanging off of that, Claude.” Peter looks his attorney in the eye and the man actually flinches.
“Arthur Danforth owes his seat on the Federal bench to Terrance Pratt.”
Ah, no need to tell Claude to look for a connection between the judge and the dead senator. “Can’t you push for recusal?”
Claude fiddles with his glasses. “Unfortunately, it’s not that sort of connection. Pratt was on the Senate Judiciary Committee and pushed through Danforth’s confirmation. There are dozens of judges in the country that could say the same thing. I can argue it, but without some other personal tie, it will be hard to prove any sort of prejudice. And being accused of Federal murder is generally good grounds to deny bail, regardless.”
“Yeah.” Peter tries not to feel dejected, but it’s hard.
“What happened to you?” Claude gestures at his face.
Peter doesn’t bother to lie. “A close encounter with a former member of the FBI’s Most Wanted. The man holds a grudge.”
“Well, that may work in your favor. If your life’s at risk because of an arrest you once made.”
“It wasn’t my arrest.” He tells Claude all about what happened on Cape Verde, that while he was the one who figured out the real identity of Henry Dobbs, he wasn’t the agent who arrested him. In fact, his name doesn’t appear anywhere on the record.
“And yet the man still knows you’re the one responsible?” Claude isn’t so optimistic anymore, without the direct connection between MacLeish and Peter. “Then it’s likely that you’ll either get put into solitary or transferred. Neither option is good.”
Peter knows what happens to prisoners in solitary – even those who are there for their own safety. It takes as little as ten days for personality to start to degrade, for mental health problems to emerge. “Let’s hold off. MacLeish isn’t known for being violent.” The black on his face gives lie to that statement and before Claude can question him further, Peter changes the subject. “Have you spoken with Neal?”
Claude hems and haws before telling Peter, “We had a formal interview with him yesterday, and I’m hoping that Neal’s affidavit that his father confessed to shooting Pratt will give enough weight to the motion.” Claude sounds worried.
“What’s the problem?”
“I tried to get a hold of Mr. Caffrey this morning. He didn’t answer his cell phone or respond to any of my texts. I sent a messenger over to his apartment, and the housekeeper told him that Mr. Caffrey was gone. He said that he’d be gone for a while.”
Peter’s blood goes cold. Neal wouldn’t run – not now, not with so much at stake. “Did you try the office?”
“Yes. I spoke with an Agent Watson – do you know her?”
“Yeah – she came into the unit with Calloway.”
“Well –” Claude rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but the Marshals came to collect Caffrey a few hours ago. They’re taking him back to prison.”
Peter can’t believe what he’s just heard. “Back to prison?”
“Yeah – apparently Calloway called the Marshals and told them to come pick him up. Sorry. I know what Caffrey means to you.”
Peter tries to breathe through the panic. He can’t help Neal if he’s stuck in here, and Diana and Clinton can only do so much. They are facing their own problems from helping him and Neal. He runs through a list of options; it’s a short one. “Call Reese Hughes – he’s still got juice and he knows the system.” He mentally crosses his fingers and hopes his friend can help him one more time.
Claude gets up. “I’m going to do my best, but Peter – “
He acknowledges the compassion in the older man’s eyes. “I know – be prepared for the worst.”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Neal tries not to panic. It’s not as if this is the first time he’s gone back inside. It’s just the first time that Peter’s not going to be able to get him out. And it’s not like he’s going to have escape plans that he can execute – no convenient bakery awning to catch him as he falls. He’s going in to protect Peter, to watch his back. Guards are corrupt and there are always knives in the darkness.
He worries about all the criminals they’ve caught – the really dangerous ones – the ones out for Peter’s blood. At least Wilkes is in Pennsylvania and Keller’s been shipped off to the Supermax in Florence, Colorado. Neal curses himself for not checking; he doesn’t like going in blind.
He worries, too, about the prisoners who’d think that bagging a Federal agent would be worth the trouble. Theoretically, that shouldn’t be such a risk since Metropolitan Correctional is primarily a holding facility for defendants waiting for trial, but there are long-term prisoners here.
In the end, though, Neal’s here because Peter doesn’t know how to survive on the wrong side of a prison cell. He doesn’t know how not to look people in the eye, how not to call attention to yourself just by the way you stand, how you pitch your voice, how you carry your meal tray. For everything that Peter’s done for him, this is the one thing that Neal can do for Peter.
The Marshals escort him through processing, he’s fingerprinted and photographed and handed an all-too-familiar set of orange clothing. They stand there as he’s strip-searched, and Neal tries not to care as the guard pries open his ass-cheeks and flashes a light on his hole, when he tugs at his dick and check under his balls. There’s nothing the least bit salacious about the process. The weary prison guard wears latex gloves and smells like breakfast burritos. The man finishes his inspection; he doesn’t say anything until he tells Neal that he can get dressed.
Neal spares a thought for the suit that he carefully folds and places in a bag. Hopefully it will be returned to him soon.
It’s not all bad, though. There’s a welcome and familiar face waiting for him as he comes out of the processing room.
Clinton flashes his badge and the Marshals step back a few feet. “Caffrey – Diana told me what happened, what you did. You okay?”
He nods. “You understand why I’m here.” Neal realizes that he sounds like he’s begging. “You and Diana will find James, you’ll bring him in. I’ve got to make sure that Peter stays alive until you do.”
“Caffrey –” Clinton says his name, but there’s no exasperation there. Just a little grief. “If you need us – you get in touch. We’ll be here as soon as you call.”
Neal knows that, but he also knows the limits of Federal badges, and he knows that Clinton’s and Diana’s hold on theirs is tenuous. “Talk to Moz – he’s working on stuff.” He can’t say more than that, not here.
Jones looks like he wants to cry, like he wants to give him a hug. His eyes keep in contact with Neal’s until the door slams shut.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Peter paces his cell – four steps to the wall, four steps to the door – over and over again. The agitation is suffocating, it burns across his skin. Neal’s on his way back to Sing-Sing and there’s nothing he can do about it.
He can remember every moment with Neal – from the first. They play in quick succession, moments of triumph and tragedy – moments of such perfect companionship that he wants to tear apart this cell and grow wings. The need to get to Neal, to keep him safe, to keep him at his side is a whip lashing at him. He can’t relax, he can’t think about himself, he can’t do anything but worry.
A nightstick bangs against his cell door and Peter stops his pacing. The guard orders him to assume the position. What position?
“Hands against the wall, feet spread.”
The guards don’t care that he’s a Federal agent. They should, but they don’t. Peter complies – it’s not like he has a choice.
“You’ve got a cellmate.”
Shit. There are two bunks here, but he’s supposed to be under special watch. Having another person in this cell is going to complicate things.
Except that person is Neal. Who complicates things, regardless.
Peter doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry – all that worrying for nothing. No, not for nothing, because this is prison and Neal’s just as vulnerable as he is. Fear returns and his joy at the sight of Neal evaporates. There’s anger, too. Calloway is wasting no time in decimating his organization. He wonders how long it will be before Jones and Diana are transferred out.
The guard pushes Neal into the cell, and he stumbles. Neal doesn’t meet his eyes; he doesn’t give him a jaunty wave and that familiar smile. He looks shaken, afraid.
The door slams shut and they both flinch.
Now that they’re alone, the pretense falls away. Neal lifts his chin and finally looks him in the eye, his expression challenging.
“What have you done?” Then Peter realizes what happened. “Are you crazy? Why in the world did you get her to send you back to prison?”
Neal reaches out to touch his face. Peter inhales sharply as the fingers softly brush the bruise left from last night’s encounter. “It’s what I needed to do. It’s nothing less than what you’ve done for me.”
Peter shivers at the touch of Neal’s hand. He wants to turn his face into that warm, hard palm. He tells himself that it’s just gratitude, not something more. And for a heartbeat, he lets himself believe that. But gratitude quickly gives way to anger. He’s worked tirelessly to keep Neal out of jail – to keep him safe. And the man just turns his back on that.
It’s a bit irrational, but the whole situation is irrational. He pulls away and turns his back on Neal.
The anger won’t last; it never does.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Neal understands Peter’s anger. In their partnership, it’s always been Peter protecting him. The one other time that he tried to protect Peter – at Elizabeth’s insistence – it was a miserable failure. Which is why they are both in a prison cell.
If Neal had hopes that Peter would greet him with open arms, he also knows that for what he needs to do, Peter’s anger is better.
He has a reprieve the first night. No one comes for him, but he still doesn’t sleep. Prison isn’t quiet. He’s forgotten about the echoes of misery – past and present – that can keep a man awake. He’s forgotten about the incessant sound of a nightstick tap-tap-tapping against a guard’s belt or the wall.
Neal’s forgotten about the noisy darkness, of loneliness beaten out in the rhythmic pumping of fists, muffled into graying pillows and worn-out mattresses.
It’s best that these things are forgotten, because they are far too easy to remember.
Peter gives him angry looks and the silent treatment through the day, although he makes no move to separate himself from Neal. They aren’t in AdSeg so they get to take their meals with the rest of the prisoners, which Neal thinks is a supremely bad idea. When they are on line for breakfast, Peter stands straight and tall, making himself a target. Neal slouches. Before Neal can tell him to change his posture, Peter understands and the impossible begins to happen – he becomes almost invisible.
There is a moment when the past catches up to them. Neal comes face to face with Henry Dobbs – wait, Robert MacLeish – and the meeting between the two of them is both humorous and fraught. Neal smirks and looks at MacLeish in his own orange jumpsuit. He wants to say something about this being a far cry from his mansion on Praia, except for that cell in the basement. But he keeps his mouth shut. MacLeish has two men – big guys – hovering at his shoulder, and one of them, with a black eye to match Peter’s, is licking his lips. Neal isn’t sure if he wants to fight or fuck him.
MacLeish doesn’t recognize him at first – maybe it’s the missing facial hair or the prison uniform instead of a custom tailored linen suit – but then he does and his eyes widen. They go from him to Peter and back to him.
Neal knows he should really keep quiet, but now he can’t. He leans in, and says in the most vicious whisper he can manage, “If you hadn’t handed me over to Collins, you stupid fuck, I would have left Cape Verde ignorant of your real identity. Just think, if you hadn’t betrayed our bargain, you’d still be sitting in your office, smoking cigars, making model ships and naming them after your mistresses and no one would have ever known who you really were.”
The other man looks like he wants to rip his head off, and his thugs take a step forward. Neal knows that in this crowded prison cafeteria, it’s his tongue and not his fists that will keep him safe at this moment. He doesn’t flinch when the first man grabs him. From the corner of his eye, he can see the guards move in.
Neal doesn’t bother to whisper this time, he wants everyone to hear what MacLeish is. “You might want to rethink your terms with that guy – I paid him twenty-five grand for protection and he turned me over to the Feds the first chance he got. He’ll sell you out, too, if he thinks it’ll benefit him.” This is why he confronts MacLeish instead of ignoring him. He needs to establish himself as a badass, someone you don’t fuck with. Words are his knives and his bullets. He knows how to use them.
Neal can feel the tension radiate off of Peter, it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. But Peter knows better than to interfere. This is not some suburban playground. You have to stake your claim early and show everyone just how big and brassy your balls are.
The man lets go of him and gives MacLeish a dirty look. He and his partner stalk off, leaving them alone in a room full of inmates – men with everything and nothing to lose. MacLeish finally moves on. He gives Peter a bad look and one for Neal that promises retribution.
They take their trays and sit down. Neal ignores the murmurs around them. The man next to Peter picks up his tray and leaves, muttering that he’s not sitting next to some goddamn fucking Fed.
Peter’s still angry – at him for being here, at what just happened. But Neal has no regrets. Peter’s going to stay safe and alive and unharmed, no matter what. No matter the cost. He’ll endure Peter’s anger, the silent treatment; it’s the least of his problems right now.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Mozzie knows that his usual paranoid routine – umbrella tapping, bird calls, newspapers turned to specific pages – won’t work with the Old Gray Suit. If Moz is a dedicated amateur in the world of professional paranoia, Reese Hughes is a grand master. Neal might characterize the Old Gray Suit as a scary version of Grumpy Grandpa, but Neal doesn’t have the contacts that he has. He doesn’t know who the man really is, he doesn’t know that Hughes didn’t really retire that first time, that he spent the intervening years as a Section Chief for the NSA.
So Moz will meet with Reese Hughes at the old man’s pleasure. Fortunately, the old man likes burgers and shakes and Moz is willing to risk the consequences of a massive lactose intake when it’s Neal’s life on the line.
Moz snags a table and waits while Hughes stands on line. The old man finally arrives and puts two shakes – one strawberry, one chocolate – and a bag with a couple of extra-greasy cheeseburgers on the table. He pulls a burger out of the bag and tells him to eat up.
Moz grabs the strawberry one, shoves a straw into it and sucks. It’s so damn good he nearly faints. The old man unwraps his own burger and consumes it neatly, like an experienced predator. Moz waits for his stomach to rebel, but nothing happens and he takes a bite of his cheeseburger. It’s almost as good as the shake.
Finally the food is consumed, their shakes are reduced to melted dregs and Moz is in a bizarre state, hovering between a food coma and near-fatal anxiety.
“You didn’t get this from me.” Hughes slips something – probably a flash drive – under the pile of spent napkins.
Moz will take the usual precautions before accessing the data. “What about the other thing? You know what I need.”
Hughes smiles and pushes the greasy bag towards him. “I got you a few extra burgers. You might get hungry on your way to see Neal.”
The old man leaves without another word.
Moz shivers.
But he takes a deep breath. This is going to happen. He’s going to have to do this. No, Neal is going to have to do this.
It’s not the milk shake that’s making him sick.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Elizabeth waits for Peter in a cold and ugly room. On the inch-thick Lexan divider, the linoleum covered tables and the worn-out chairs, there’s subtle graffiti scratched into the surface, spelling out pain and anger and confusion. She understands these emotions.
It’s hard to breathe in this room, she feels like the walls are closing in, like she’ll never be able to leave. Or that this will be her life – days marked by hours spent waiting in rooms like this for a brief – too brief – moment with her husband. Talking but not talking, reaching out but not touching, hiding all the pain, all the fear.
A door opens on the other side and it’s her husband. It’s the first time she’s seen him since the bailiff put the cuffs on and led him away. She’s talked to Claude, to Diana, and to Clinton. They’ve all assured her that Peter will be fine, he’ll be out soon, and that this is all a terrible mistake.
Elizabeth won’t talk to Neal. She won’t spare a word or a thought for the man who has taken her husband away from her. Moz tiptoes quietly around her. She acknowledges his friendship, but she knows that he’s there to bridge the gap between her anger and Neal’s guilt.
It’s not a bridge she ever plans to cross.
Peter sits down and picks up the phone. She does the same.
“Hi, hon.”
Those two words carry a wealth of meaning, and El responds in kind. “Hi, hon.” Then she looks at Peter, she sees the bruises and the smile on her face freezes.
“I’m fine – you should see the other guy.” Peter does sound okay. And she knows how he feels about lying to each other, even for the best of reasons. But she’s angry and that bruise just stokes her rage.
“Really? You’re really fine? You’ve been arrested for the murder of a U.S. Senator, the judge wants the Government to push for the death penalty, you’ve lost your badge again and all you can say is ‘I’m fine’? That’s bullshit. You aren’t fine, and you know it.”
Elizabeth puts down the phone and buries her face in her hands. Peter may say he’s fine, he may even believe it, but she isn’t. It’s too much. Right now, it’s just too much to even pretend.
“El? Hon? Talk to me, please?” She hears his voice, quiet and steady, through the handset. It’s a lifeline that she grasps.
“I’m – I’m sorry.”
Peter rests a hand against the divider; she reaches out and mirrors the gesture. “I’m sorry, too – sorry that you have to go through this.”
He’s a saint, her husband. He’s lost everything and he’s worried about her. She feels mean and petty and small.
“We’ll get through this, please trust me.”
“I do, it just hurts.”
“I know, hon. I know. Maybe you shouldn’t come back here.”
Elizabeth almost wants to take that out. It would be so easy. “No – I’m your wife.” That answers everything. “I love you.”
They talk for a while, trying to keep the tone light. “Satchmo got frisky with Lenny, the Pedersons’ Golden Doodle. They were appalled, but Lenny seemed to enjoy it.”
Peter laughs, the sound is pure joy. “Well, with a breed name like that, what can you expect?”
El chuckles. The conversation goes like that for a bit. She tells him about her new clients, a Brazilian bridezilla and her monster-in-law to-be. The guard signals ‘five minutes’ and El knows that she has to say one more thing, if just to avoid lying.
“Before you even ask, I haven’t heard from Neal. I think he knows that I’m furious at him. And don’t you dare tell me not to be. If it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t be here.”
Peter’s expression is strange – resignation, pride and sadness. “You won’t hear from Neal, at least not until I get out of here.”
“You’ve told him to stay away? Good.”
“No, El. Not good.” Peter closes his eyes, as if what he’s about to tell her is hurting him. And her rage against Neal flares again. His answer, though, is unexpected and shocking. “Neal’s here. He’s back in prison. He’s my cellmate.”
“What?”
“He orchestrated something with Calloway, and he got her to send him here.” Peter laughs again. This time the sound is bitter. “He tells me he did it so he’ll be able to watch my back, to protect me. Neal Caffrey trying to protect me. How ridiculous is that?”
Elizabeth is shaken. This was the last thing she expected. She’s always understood that Neal’s feelings for Peter were profound. It was why she’s accepted him in their lives and his place in Peter’s heart. It’s why she can go to him when Peter’s in trouble. It’s been that way since the start. But this is beyond any expectations. She knows just how much Neal dreaded returning to prison, how he would have done anything to avoid it.
She’s grateful to Neal, and gratitude appeases her anger. She doesn’t let it show, though. “He did the right thing – for the right reason. Maybe for the first time in his life.” Her tone is steely and she hopes Peter doesn’t contradict her. She’s not prepared to lie to Peter right now. She’s too vulnerable. After she gets home, she will talk to Moz. They can formulate a plan to get Peter and Neal out of here.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Moz, though, has equally pressing concerns and he needs to talk to Neal, right now. He’s pacing around the attorney-client conference room like a hamster on a wheel. Finally, Neal’s escorted in.
“You’re insane.” Moz repeats the last words he said to Neal before he went to confront Calloway.
Neal shrugs. “I have no choice. Peter’s not equipped to ride this out alone.”
“I know, but still…” Moz sighs. He knows that Neal would risk anything for the Suit – just as he’d risk anything for him. That is the measure of this man, the quality of Neal Caffrey that makes him risk his own life and limb and sanity on far too many occasions.
“So, other than the obvious – what’s got you so wound up?”
“You’re not going to believe who’s here.” Moz is actually relishing the reveal, but he ends up disappointed. Neal already knows.
“MacLeish – or more accurately – our old friend, Henry Dobbs. We’ve already said our hellos, and I have to say, it wasn’t like old home week.”
“Shit.” Moz had hoped Neal hadn’t encountered MacLeish yet.
“Yeah.” Neal raises his eyebrows and gives him a nod. But he doesn’t know exactly how bad it is.
“You should know that he’s figured out that it was Peter who’s responsible for his unmasking back on Cape Verde.”
“I think he’s already tried to go after Peter. He’s sporting a couple of bruises, and so is his muscle. But they might not be his muscle any longer, considering how they took the news that MacLeish doesn’t honor his commitments.”
The news sends a chill through Moz. “You’ve been poking the tiger with a stick, Neal. Not smart.”
“I needed to draw a line, Moz. MacLeish has to know who he’s dealing with.”
“Well, considering how deep MacLeish’s pockets are – he’s really not going to care much about that line.”
“What are you saying?”
“It’s not just the inmates here that MacLeish can pay off. It’s the guards, too.”
“We can pay more, right?” Neal asks.
“Like that’s not a scenario that I haven’t already contemplated. You should know that he’s promised a six-figure bounty to the head guard for Peter. And now that he knows you’re here, you’re probably worth just as much.”
“Anyway we can prove that?” There’s a level of desperation in Neal’s question that Moz had anticipated.
“What are you thinking?” The question was superfluous; Moz already knows where Neal’s thoughts are heading.
“If we can show that Peter’s in critical danger – even from the guards – they’ll have to let him out on bail.”
“Or put him in solitary under military watch.” Moz can’t help but supply the worst case scenario.
Neal just looks at him, all floppy hair and puppy dog eyes. Moz knows that he’s too soft a touch. Besides, he’s prepared for this. “You’re going to have to get access to the guard’s personal cell phone. MacLeish transferred a down payment to a numbered account – we’re going to need get that confirmation.”
“That’s not going to be easy. Guards can’t carry personal cell phones during their shift. And how the hell am I going to get a cloner in here?”
“I’m already on that. Our friend, on the other side of the door, will work with us.”
“He’s trustworthy?”
“I know him, and once the guy’s bought, he stays bought. Those types are few and far between. Besides, he’s got incentive. Around here, it’s sort of like that episode of Star Trek – the one with the parallel universes – if his boss gets taken out, he’s going to be promoted.”
Neal sighs and closes his eyes. Moz knows he’s preparing himself for what needs to be done, no matter how unpleasant.
“How safe is Peter right now? In his cell, alone?”
“When they try for him, they’ll make it look like it was another inmate or even an accident. They won’t want anything coming back to them – not MacLeish, not the head guard.”
“So – tonight?”
“Yeah – be ready for tonight.” Moz slides a strip of foil-wrapped packets across the table; Neal tucks them into his pocket.
They discuss other, less fraught things, like locating James Bennett and making him talk until he begs for mercy. Moz thinks about doing it the Detroit Way – he’ll start with the man’s thumbs. But he doesn’t tell Neal that.
Neal gets that faraway look, the one that had become all too familiar in the days after Kate’s death. “I used to wonder – after Ellen told me that my father was dirty – if he just was caught up in circumstance or if he was truly evil. There was a short space of time when I truly regretted what I had become – when I thought that James was simply weak and had spent thirty years trying to make things right.”
“Neal …” Moz can’t really find the words.
“You know, Moz – you’re better off not knowing your folks. You can make them whatever you want them to be. You’ll never be disappointed by them.” Neal shakes his head, as if to dispel the memories. “Enough – we’ve got work to do.”
Moz goes to the door and signals for the guard. The man looks from him to Neal and back to him again and asks, “Your guy knows what he’s got to do – how this has to go down?”
“Yeah.” He gives the cloning device to the man and hopes that the Old Gray Suit doesn’t have kittens when he discovers that classified tech was in the hands of a low-level prison guard. “Neal’s going to need a five minute window – can you manage that?”
“Five minutes, can’t guarantee more than that. What about my money?”
Moz takes comfort in the venality of human nature. He hands the guard a thick envelope. “That’s half, the rest tomorrow. But only if Caffrey and Burke are in the same condition they are now – unharmed and breathing.”
The guard runs a thumb over the thick sheaf of bills. “Understood.”
He gestures to Neal, who turns to Moz before leaving. “Thanks.”
“Please, Neal – don’t.” Moz is still more than a little sick at the thought of what Neal’s got to do tonight. His gratitude only makes it worse.
Neal gives him that grin, the one that sucked him in so many years ago. “There’s a ‘90 Brunello hidden behind the winter coats in my closet. Help yourself.”
He thinks that he should display some outrage that Neal would secret such a spectacular vintage from him, but he can’t find it in himself to even fake it. “We’ll open it when you get out of here, okay?”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Once, when they were both a little drunk, both a little vulnerable, he asked Neal what was the worst thing about prison. Neal had made some off-hand and all too glib comment about the quality of the bedding and the lack of room service at Sing-Sing. Peter wouldn’t accept the deflection and when he pressed, something terrible passed across Neal’s face. Seeing that pain, he would have let the question go, but Neal decided to give him a serious answer.
“Boredom. Doing the same thing day after day, for all the endless days. That’s my idea of hell on earth, and I never want to go back.“
Peter remembers how Neal’s hand shook as he took a sip of wine, how he didn’t – wouldn’t – meet his eyes. He understood that boredom was only one of the torments of a prisoner in a cell, but at the time, he was sure that it wasn’t the worst.
Now, however; he isn’t so sure. Neal’s meeting with his attorney (Moz, he strongly suspects and actually hopes) and Peter is ready to climb the walls. It’s not nerves – he doesn’t think that Neal’s in any danger at the moment – it’s the lack of external stimulation. He suddenly wishes he took El up on the offer to go to yoga classes. Maybe he could find some inner peace that way.
Peter folds himself into what he hopes is an approximation of a lotus position, he rests his hands on his knees like he’s seen El do dozens of times and he takes a deep breath. He tries to find inner peace, but all he encounters is the noise of a self in turmoil. Will I get out of here? Will Bennett turn up and confess? Will I be able to protect Neal?
The questions roll over in his unquiet mind. There are no answers. His thighs and knees and calves begin to ache from the unfamiliar position. He’s conscious of his own slightly rancid body odor, the musty smell from the bedding, the underlying stench of sewage and desperation.
The clang of a key against metal breaks what little concentration Peter’s been able to achieve. It’s been three days and he knows the drill. He gets up and moves to the far end of the cell. It’s Neal, wearing his conman’s grin, a look of satisfaction; Peter doesn’t take any hope from that, especially if he’s been meeting with Moz. He’s also carrying himself with an odd sort of tension, as if he’s about to spring into action.
The door shuts, sealing them off from the world – such as it is – and Neal visibly relaxes.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
Both men ask and answer the question simultaneously and they laugh. The anger that Peter’s been carrying melts away. He rests his hands on Neal’s shoulders and pulls him close.
“You shouldn’t have done this, Neal. I can take care of myself.”
Neal sighs and shakes his head. “Peter – you’re a Fed in prison. You have no one to watch your back. And even if you’re not in GenPop, you’re still at risk.”
“And you’re the one to protect me?” Peter still finds the idea ludicrous.
“I spent four years in a place a lot worse than this and survived.”
Again, Peter wonders what Neal did, what bargains he made, how he kept them. Back in the beginning, Neal was like a butterfly loose from its chrysalis, focused on finding the good life (and Kate), and Peter didn’t think about the price he had paid for his safety in prison. He saw the letters in Neal’s DOC file – all those fellow convicts thanking him for his help – so he had conveniently let himself believe that Neal avoided the dark side of prison life.
Now, he regrets that willful blindness.
“How is El doing?” Neal’s flopped onto his bunk.
Peter sits down next to him, scoops up his feet and drapes them across his lap. “She’s holding up.”
“I hope she’ll forgive me someday.”
“There’s nothing to forgive, Neal. This was my call, from the beginning.” He finds himself petting Neal’s ankle, the one now bare of the tracker. It’s interesting how Neal stretches his leg, moving a little closer.
“I’ve brought nothing but chaos into your life.”
“Like I told you a few days ago, I would do it all over again. Kate, Fowler, Adler, the U-boat treasure, I regret nothing.”
Neal doesn’t want to let go of it. “Keller – what he did. You have to regret that?”
“Okay – yeah. I wouldn’t want anyone to take my wife again.”
“And Kramer?”
Peter has to laugh. “I got an interesting vacation out of it. Racked up a whole lot of frequent flyer miles going to Africa. And six weeks in the tropics didn’t exactly hurt you either.”
“Collins shot me.”
“Oh, yeah. Forgot about that.” Peter runs his hand down Neal’s thigh. He can feel the slight indentation from the bullet scar.
Neal twitches at the contact – the almost-caress – and plays what he probably thinks is his trump card. “What about Hughes? If I hadn’t – “
Peter cuts him off. “Neal, stop it. There’s nothing that you can say that will make me blame you for this. Remember what I told you that day?”
“What day?”
“After Elizabeth was taken and Moz had shown up. We had gone back to your apartment, to regroup. I told you that it wasn’t your fault – that Keller kidnapped Elizabeth, not you. Whatever actions preceded that, whatever you had done, you still weren’t responsible for Matthew Keller taking my wife.”
He can feel Neal tense at every mention of Keller’s name and has to wonder what they once were to each other. Well, they have time and not much else to do; he’ll get the story out of Neal, eventually.
Neal goes quiet, but Peter can tell he’s thinking. “Whatever you’re planning, stop.”
Neal’s eyebrows get lost in the stratosphere. “I’m not planning anything.”
“Until recently, you’ve had an excellent track record of not lying to my face. Don’t fall into bad habits now.”
“Peter – I have no plans to break you out of prison. I’m here to watch your back, make sure that nothing happens to you until you get out of here.”
He knows that there’s a loophole in that assertion big enough to swallow the Grand Canyon. It’s all part of their game, even here. Neal gives him just enough assurance so he can sleep at night, then goes and violates the spirit, if not the letter of their promise. Peter won’t sleep on this one, though – there’s too much at risk.
Part Two - On DW | On LJ
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke, Reese Hughes, Diana Berrigan, Clinton Jones, Mozzie, June Ellington, Amanda Calloway, OMC, OFC
Spoilers: All of Season 4, Specifically In the Wind
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Prison Fic, Dub-Con, Violence, First Time fic, Angst,
Word Count: ~28,000 Total
Beta Credit:
coffeethyme4me, jrosemary, rabidchild67 Summary: Following the tragic events at the end of In the Wind, Peter is facing the ultimate penalty and Neal is prepared to do whatever it takes to keep that from happening. Even as old enemies are sharpening their knives, Peter and Neal are not without friends.
A/N: Many, many thanks to my trio of beta readers and cheerleaders, who gave unstintingly of their time as this turned from a vague idea for some dirty prison fic into a massive and angst-ridden epic. And my deepest appreciation to the ladies of the
wcwu chats, whose enthusiasm for this story boosted my confidence and kept me going. Title from Oysterband’s “Put Out the Lights”.
“Bail is denied.” The judge bangs his gavel and the guard pulls him away. Peter doesn’t resist, he’s too stunned.
His lawyer, Claude, is a seasoned professional. He assures him that they will file a motion for reconsideration before the end of the day. Claire Bainbridge, the Assistant U.S. Attorney, a woman he’s known for a half-dozen years and someone he considers a friend, refuses to meet his eyes. El manages to hold him for a too-brief second. Over her head, he sees Diana and Clinton, they are furious. So is the rest of his team, lined up behind them.
And there is Neal – blue eyes blazing, icy pale. He’s ready to …
“No – don’t,” Peter shakes his head. Neal is going to fall on his sword, take the blame, but it will only make this worse. He’ll get out of this. He has to.
Neal plots and paces. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.
He makes plans to break Peter out. He works out how he and Moz could get him on a plane to Cape Verde. That would be the best place for him. No extradition, after all.
He thinks about how to get his father – how to get James Bennett (that fucking bastard) – to confess to shooting Pratt. He remembers the moment when James turned to leave, when he barked at him, NO, and he remembers other moments, long buried: his mother crying in the darkness, a man shouting, the sounds of a hand hitting flesh.
Those memories explain the shock at the moment.
anger and fear – hide, keep quiet, no one will find you
They could be his memories, they could be something else. He doesn’t know and it doesn’t matter. James is in the wind, he’s gone. Pratt’s gun is gone.
Peter’s gone.
Nothing matters more than saving Peter – his life, his sanity, his soul. His own life isn’t worth anything if Peter isn’t in this world.
Neal knows what he has to do.
The first night in prison, Peter doesn’t sleep. He’s hyper-aware, conscious of every sound, every movement. There are guards stationed on either side of his cell door. He’s a Fed, a target, and they are supposed to make sure no one tries anything. Except that guards can be paid off and he could easily end up hanging from the pipes above his head.
He shakes his head, as if the motion can derail the bleakness of his thoughts.
He’s going to get out of this – Neal will find James, he’ll get the man to turn himself in. Peter will be there to testify that James fired in self-defense, that he didn’t intend to kill Pratt. But even as he runs through the scenario in his head, he can hear how the prosecution will spin it. He was conspiring with James to get the evidence box, to smear the Senator, and when there was nothing in the box, James shot the man in anger and Peter was covering for him.
Claire, the AUSA, isn’t happy how this case is being handled, but she can’t do anything at the moment. Her boss is ambitious and likes the headlines and tells her to be aggressive. Even so, she’s amenable to a reasonable bail request, but the judge decides that the crime was so heinous that Peter needs to be locked away. He is also, apparently, a flight risk (given his jaunt off the reservation to retrieve Neal), and his repeated association with known felons (also Neal, and now James) makes it impossible to grant bail.
And besides, won’t the U.S. Attorney’s office be pushing for the death penalty?
Peter can still hear the gasps from the gallery: El’s, Neal’s, his team’s. Peter supposes that the judge is – or now, more accurately, was – in Pratt’s pocket and he’s pissed off at losing a patron. He should remember to tell his attorney that.
It’s an interesting conundrum. The law says he is innocent until proven guilty, but he’s being treated as if his guilt has already been proven beyond a reasonable doubt.
The prison isn’t a quiet place, even at night after lockdown. There are the steady footfalls of the guards as they make their rounds. The pipes buried in the walls and floors are noisy. And there’s the ever-present hum and whine of human misery.
No, Peter doesn’t sleep. How can he?
“Agent Calloway.” Neal doesn’t bother to knock on her office door. She looks way too comfortable, way too smug.
“Mr. Caffrey – good of you to show up. I sent you a message requiring your presence four hours ago. This is the FBI, not some cushy gig where you can come and go as you please. Whatever arrangement you had with Peter Burke is over. You’ll work with me, and I suggest that if you don’t want me to summon the Marshals to take you back to prison, you respond a little more promptly.”
He even hates the sound of her voice – magnolias and treachery. “Actually, that’s exactly what I want you to do. I’m going to make things easy for you. My contract with the Bureau has a withdrawal clause that lets me terminate my deal at any time.”
“You want to go back to prison?” Calloway’s incredulous.
Neal swallows against his nausea – there’s a life at stake and he has to execute this con perfectly. “No, but I won’t work for you.”
“Hmmm.” She gives him a look. “But I like the idea of the having you work for me. You’re smart. You know how to play both sides of the system. I think we’ll be a very effective team, you and me.” She leans back in her chair, smug.
Neal’s comeback is quick, “I’d sooner work for Kimberly Rice than for you.”
“Ah, yes – Agent Rice. I know all about your work with her. She set you up with a sociopathic kidnapper who wanted to kill you. I admire that kind of ambition.”
“I’m not surprised. But I’m not going to work for you. I’m going to go back to Sing-Sing to serve out the rest of my term.”
“I don’t think so, Caffrey.”
“It’s too late. I’ve already contacted the Marshals.”
Calloway picks up the phone; it’s clear she’s going to get his decision countermanded – or try to. He listens as she presents her case; it’s obvious that she never expected this play. But she does know how to negotiate and compromise, despite the rising aggravation in her voice. Just like he hoped.
“Okay – I can’t stop you from taking him back into custody, but you’re not taking him to Sing-Sing. I want a Morrissey Hearing for him, and I want him local. You know what, put Caffrey in with Burke at Metropolitan Correctional. Maybe he can talk some sense into him.”
She hangs up the phone and looks at him like he’s crazy. Maybe he is, but that won’t stop him.
“If you change your mind, if you want to come and work for me – just say the word. No need to keep your wagon hitched to a falling star.”
Neal doesn’t smile. He doesn’t smirk. He doesn’t give away a single emotion. He’s just pulled off his greatest con ever and his face is a blank. He’ll celebrate when Peter is freed and his name is cleared.
And maybe he’ll celebrate again when they escort his father to the electric chair.
Word gets out pretty quickly that there’s a Fed in the pen (not that the Metropolitan Correctional Facility is a penitentiary, but it’s certainly more of a prison than a jail). Peter knows he’s got to watch his back, even as he’s escorted by two guards into the prison showers.
He can’t help but think about Neal and how he coped when he was sent to prison. Peter knows that while Neal had wit and charm and used those assets to their fullest potential when he was in Sing-Sing, he also had to have had outside help. Peter has long suspected that Moz arranged for payoffs and protection. Because wit and charm only get you so far when faced with convicts working on life sentences and nothing to lose.
Right now, Peter wishes he had a Moz of his own. The guards have given him some “privacy” but that’s probably code that a payoff’s been made from the right people (or the wrong people, when you think about it). Two men, then a third, emerge from the steam – he recognizes one of them.
It’s Robert MacLeish, once known to the glittering throngs on Cape Verde as Henry Dobbs. Peter’s surprised and not surprised by this encounter. He’s always known that MacLeish was here, pending his trial on dozens of major financial felonies, but he didn’t expect to encounter him quite so soon.
“I couldn’t believe it when I heard you were here. How the high and mighty Peter Burke has fallen.”
Now Peter’s surprised. It was Collins who took MacLeish into custody. They had little contact once the jet left Praia.
“I’ve spent my time learning about the man who brought me down – it wasn’t James Maine, or whatever his name is – and it wasn’t that putz Kyle Collins. It was you, the White Collar division’s golden boy. The agent with the highest closure rate in the Bureau. The one who’s so fucking good that when he goes against direct orders to retrieve his CI, he still manages to bag one of the FBI’s Most Wanted.”
“I’m flattered.”
“Don’t be.”
“I’ve been here less than twelve hours; the prison grapevine’s way too efficient,” Peter replies. He wonders if he’s going to make it out of this alive.
“It’s better than Facebook.” MacLeish gestures to his two thugs and they grab his arms, or try to. There’s no way that Peter’s going down without a fight. He gets his punches in and takes a few, too.
Maybe the guards do have a conscience after all, because someone pulls the thug off of Peter and shoves him against the tile. MacLeish, of course, disappears like he never was.
At least no one kicked him. He’ll be okay. He touches his face – his cheek’s already swollen and he can taste blood.
El’s going to be so pissed when she sees him.
Diana watches the interaction between Calloway and Neal. Neal’s up to something, he’s got a plan in the works and he’s playing Calloway like a Stradivarius. She knows Neal, she knows his body language, how he leans in just so, how he smiles and tilts his head and convinces you that you really want to do exactly what he wants you to do.
She also knows when Neal’s running on fumes, when he’s using everything he’s got and there are no reserves left. That’s when Caffrey’s the most dangerous. To himself and to those around him. Whatever con he’s running on Calloway, it’s make or break time and it’s a good thing that their erstwhile SAIC doesn’t know Neal all that well. Or she’d see right through him.
There’s a phone conversation and Neal turns his back on Calloway. He’s looking down at the bullpen, but Diana can’t catch his gaze. But whatever rig he’s running must have paid off. Neal’s posture relaxes just a bit and he’s all smiles when he turns around. A few moments later, he leaves her office and comes downstairs.
“Any word on Bennett?”
Diana thinks it’s interesting that Neal doesn’t call the man by any other name. She tells him, “No. But we do have an APB out at Penn Station, the Port Authority and the airports. Do you have ideas where he might go?”
Neal gives her an address in New Jersey. “I don’t think he’d head back there, but it’s one of Mozzie’s safe houses – it’s where we stashed him.” As if he were a crate full of stolen treasure.
“We’ll take a look. There’s nothing he’s ever said to you about places in New York that he liked?”
“No – he didn’t talk much about himself; he only told me what I wanted to hear.”
Diana understands the bitterness.
There’s a commotion at the front door. Three men and a woman in navy windbreakers emblazoned with “U.S. Marshal” are muscling their way into the office. Their eyes scan the room, zeroing in on Neal.
“Caffrey?”
He gives them a wave. “I’ve been here, waiting patiently for you to show up.”
Diana watches, appalled, as they cuff him. She tries to intervene, but Neal shrugs her off. “Someone’s got to watch Peter’s back in there.”
Neal gives the office one last look – there’s no fear in his eyes. No regret either. Just resignation. When he looks up at Calloway, standing on the balcony, Diana sees that resignation turn into something else – triumph. This was the con Neal was running on Calloway.
She wants to cheer and she wants to stop him from doing this. She does neither, just stands there like an honor guard as the Marshals escort Neal away.
“We’ve filed the motion for reconsideration.”
“I can hear a huge ‘but’ hanging off of that, Claude.” Peter looks his attorney in the eye and the man actually flinches.
“Arthur Danforth owes his seat on the Federal bench to Terrance Pratt.”
Ah, no need to tell Claude to look for a connection between the judge and the dead senator. “Can’t you push for recusal?”
Claude fiddles with his glasses. “Unfortunately, it’s not that sort of connection. Pratt was on the Senate Judiciary Committee and pushed through Danforth’s confirmation. There are dozens of judges in the country that could say the same thing. I can argue it, but without some other personal tie, it will be hard to prove any sort of prejudice. And being accused of Federal murder is generally good grounds to deny bail, regardless.”
“Yeah.” Peter tries not to feel dejected, but it’s hard.
“What happened to you?” Claude gestures at his face.
Peter doesn’t bother to lie. “A close encounter with a former member of the FBI’s Most Wanted. The man holds a grudge.”
“Well, that may work in your favor. If your life’s at risk because of an arrest you once made.”
“It wasn’t my arrest.” He tells Claude all about what happened on Cape Verde, that while he was the one who figured out the real identity of Henry Dobbs, he wasn’t the agent who arrested him. In fact, his name doesn’t appear anywhere on the record.
“And yet the man still knows you’re the one responsible?” Claude isn’t so optimistic anymore, without the direct connection between MacLeish and Peter. “Then it’s likely that you’ll either get put into solitary or transferred. Neither option is good.”
Peter knows what happens to prisoners in solitary – even those who are there for their own safety. It takes as little as ten days for personality to start to degrade, for mental health problems to emerge. “Let’s hold off. MacLeish isn’t known for being violent.” The black on his face gives lie to that statement and before Claude can question him further, Peter changes the subject. “Have you spoken with Neal?”
Claude hems and haws before telling Peter, “We had a formal interview with him yesterday, and I’m hoping that Neal’s affidavit that his father confessed to shooting Pratt will give enough weight to the motion.” Claude sounds worried.
“What’s the problem?”
“I tried to get a hold of Mr. Caffrey this morning. He didn’t answer his cell phone or respond to any of my texts. I sent a messenger over to his apartment, and the housekeeper told him that Mr. Caffrey was gone. He said that he’d be gone for a while.”
Peter’s blood goes cold. Neal wouldn’t run – not now, not with so much at stake. “Did you try the office?”
“Yes. I spoke with an Agent Watson – do you know her?”
“Yeah – she came into the unit with Calloway.”
“Well –” Claude rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but the Marshals came to collect Caffrey a few hours ago. They’re taking him back to prison.”
Peter can’t believe what he’s just heard. “Back to prison?”
“Yeah – apparently Calloway called the Marshals and told them to come pick him up. Sorry. I know what Caffrey means to you.”
Peter tries to breathe through the panic. He can’t help Neal if he’s stuck in here, and Diana and Clinton can only do so much. They are facing their own problems from helping him and Neal. He runs through a list of options; it’s a short one. “Call Reese Hughes – he’s still got juice and he knows the system.” He mentally crosses his fingers and hopes his friend can help him one more time.
Claude gets up. “I’m going to do my best, but Peter – “
He acknowledges the compassion in the older man’s eyes. “I know – be prepared for the worst.”
Neal tries not to panic. It’s not as if this is the first time he’s gone back inside. It’s just the first time that Peter’s not going to be able to get him out. And it’s not like he’s going to have escape plans that he can execute – no convenient bakery awning to catch him as he falls. He’s going in to protect Peter, to watch his back. Guards are corrupt and there are always knives in the darkness.
He worries about all the criminals they’ve caught – the really dangerous ones – the ones out for Peter’s blood. At least Wilkes is in Pennsylvania and Keller’s been shipped off to the Supermax in Florence, Colorado. Neal curses himself for not checking; he doesn’t like going in blind.
He worries, too, about the prisoners who’d think that bagging a Federal agent would be worth the trouble. Theoretically, that shouldn’t be such a risk since Metropolitan Correctional is primarily a holding facility for defendants waiting for trial, but there are long-term prisoners here.
In the end, though, Neal’s here because Peter doesn’t know how to survive on the wrong side of a prison cell. He doesn’t know how not to look people in the eye, how not to call attention to yourself just by the way you stand, how you pitch your voice, how you carry your meal tray. For everything that Peter’s done for him, this is the one thing that Neal can do for Peter.
The Marshals escort him through processing, he’s fingerprinted and photographed and handed an all-too-familiar set of orange clothing. They stand there as he’s strip-searched, and Neal tries not to care as the guard pries open his ass-cheeks and flashes a light on his hole, when he tugs at his dick and check under his balls. There’s nothing the least bit salacious about the process. The weary prison guard wears latex gloves and smells like breakfast burritos. The man finishes his inspection; he doesn’t say anything until he tells Neal that he can get dressed.
Neal spares a thought for the suit that he carefully folds and places in a bag. Hopefully it will be returned to him soon.
It’s not all bad, though. There’s a welcome and familiar face waiting for him as he comes out of the processing room.
Clinton flashes his badge and the Marshals step back a few feet. “Caffrey – Diana told me what happened, what you did. You okay?”
He nods. “You understand why I’m here.” Neal realizes that he sounds like he’s begging. “You and Diana will find James, you’ll bring him in. I’ve got to make sure that Peter stays alive until you do.”
“Caffrey –” Clinton says his name, but there’s no exasperation there. Just a little grief. “If you need us – you get in touch. We’ll be here as soon as you call.”
Neal knows that, but he also knows the limits of Federal badges, and he knows that Clinton’s and Diana’s hold on theirs is tenuous. “Talk to Moz – he’s working on stuff.” He can’t say more than that, not here.
Jones looks like he wants to cry, like he wants to give him a hug. His eyes keep in contact with Neal’s until the door slams shut.
Peter paces his cell – four steps to the wall, four steps to the door – over and over again. The agitation is suffocating, it burns across his skin. Neal’s on his way back to Sing-Sing and there’s nothing he can do about it.
He can remember every moment with Neal – from the first. They play in quick succession, moments of triumph and tragedy – moments of such perfect companionship that he wants to tear apart this cell and grow wings. The need to get to Neal, to keep him safe, to keep him at his side is a whip lashing at him. He can’t relax, he can’t think about himself, he can’t do anything but worry.
A nightstick bangs against his cell door and Peter stops his pacing. The guard orders him to assume the position. What position?
“Hands against the wall, feet spread.”
The guards don’t care that he’s a Federal agent. They should, but they don’t. Peter complies – it’s not like he has a choice.
“You’ve got a cellmate.”
Shit. There are two bunks here, but he’s supposed to be under special watch. Having another person in this cell is going to complicate things.
Except that person is Neal. Who complicates things, regardless.
Peter doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry – all that worrying for nothing. No, not for nothing, because this is prison and Neal’s just as vulnerable as he is. Fear returns and his joy at the sight of Neal evaporates. There’s anger, too. Calloway is wasting no time in decimating his organization. He wonders how long it will be before Jones and Diana are transferred out.
The guard pushes Neal into the cell, and he stumbles. Neal doesn’t meet his eyes; he doesn’t give him a jaunty wave and that familiar smile. He looks shaken, afraid.
The door slams shut and they both flinch.
Now that they’re alone, the pretense falls away. Neal lifts his chin and finally looks him in the eye, his expression challenging.
“What have you done?” Then Peter realizes what happened. “Are you crazy? Why in the world did you get her to send you back to prison?”
Neal reaches out to touch his face. Peter inhales sharply as the fingers softly brush the bruise left from last night’s encounter. “It’s what I needed to do. It’s nothing less than what you’ve done for me.”
Peter shivers at the touch of Neal’s hand. He wants to turn his face into that warm, hard palm. He tells himself that it’s just gratitude, not something more. And for a heartbeat, he lets himself believe that. But gratitude quickly gives way to anger. He’s worked tirelessly to keep Neal out of jail – to keep him safe. And the man just turns his back on that.
It’s a bit irrational, but the whole situation is irrational. He pulls away and turns his back on Neal.
The anger won’t last; it never does.
Neal understands Peter’s anger. In their partnership, it’s always been Peter protecting him. The one other time that he tried to protect Peter – at Elizabeth’s insistence – it was a miserable failure. Which is why they are both in a prison cell.
If Neal had hopes that Peter would greet him with open arms, he also knows that for what he needs to do, Peter’s anger is better.
He has a reprieve the first night. No one comes for him, but he still doesn’t sleep. Prison isn’t quiet. He’s forgotten about the echoes of misery – past and present – that can keep a man awake. He’s forgotten about the incessant sound of a nightstick tap-tap-tapping against a guard’s belt or the wall.
Neal’s forgotten about the noisy darkness, of loneliness beaten out in the rhythmic pumping of fists, muffled into graying pillows and worn-out mattresses.
It’s best that these things are forgotten, because they are far too easy to remember.
Peter gives him angry looks and the silent treatment through the day, although he makes no move to separate himself from Neal. They aren’t in AdSeg so they get to take their meals with the rest of the prisoners, which Neal thinks is a supremely bad idea. When they are on line for breakfast, Peter stands straight and tall, making himself a target. Neal slouches. Before Neal can tell him to change his posture, Peter understands and the impossible begins to happen – he becomes almost invisible.
There is a moment when the past catches up to them. Neal comes face to face with Henry Dobbs – wait, Robert MacLeish – and the meeting between the two of them is both humorous and fraught. Neal smirks and looks at MacLeish in his own orange jumpsuit. He wants to say something about this being a far cry from his mansion on Praia, except for that cell in the basement. But he keeps his mouth shut. MacLeish has two men – big guys – hovering at his shoulder, and one of them, with a black eye to match Peter’s, is licking his lips. Neal isn’t sure if he wants to fight or fuck him.
MacLeish doesn’t recognize him at first – maybe it’s the missing facial hair or the prison uniform instead of a custom tailored linen suit – but then he does and his eyes widen. They go from him to Peter and back to him.
Neal knows he should really keep quiet, but now he can’t. He leans in, and says in the most vicious whisper he can manage, “If you hadn’t handed me over to Collins, you stupid fuck, I would have left Cape Verde ignorant of your real identity. Just think, if you hadn’t betrayed our bargain, you’d still be sitting in your office, smoking cigars, making model ships and naming them after your mistresses and no one would have ever known who you really were.”
The other man looks like he wants to rip his head off, and his thugs take a step forward. Neal knows that in this crowded prison cafeteria, it’s his tongue and not his fists that will keep him safe at this moment. He doesn’t flinch when the first man grabs him. From the corner of his eye, he can see the guards move in.
Neal doesn’t bother to whisper this time, he wants everyone to hear what MacLeish is. “You might want to rethink your terms with that guy – I paid him twenty-five grand for protection and he turned me over to the Feds the first chance he got. He’ll sell you out, too, if he thinks it’ll benefit him.” This is why he confronts MacLeish instead of ignoring him. He needs to establish himself as a badass, someone you don’t fuck with. Words are his knives and his bullets. He knows how to use them.
Neal can feel the tension radiate off of Peter, it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. But Peter knows better than to interfere. This is not some suburban playground. You have to stake your claim early and show everyone just how big and brassy your balls are.
The man lets go of him and gives MacLeish a dirty look. He and his partner stalk off, leaving them alone in a room full of inmates – men with everything and nothing to lose. MacLeish finally moves on. He gives Peter a bad look and one for Neal that promises retribution.
They take their trays and sit down. Neal ignores the murmurs around them. The man next to Peter picks up his tray and leaves, muttering that he’s not sitting next to some goddamn fucking Fed.
Peter’s still angry – at him for being here, at what just happened. But Neal has no regrets. Peter’s going to stay safe and alive and unharmed, no matter what. No matter the cost. He’ll endure Peter’s anger, the silent treatment; it’s the least of his problems right now.
Mozzie knows that his usual paranoid routine – umbrella tapping, bird calls, newspapers turned to specific pages – won’t work with the Old Gray Suit. If Moz is a dedicated amateur in the world of professional paranoia, Reese Hughes is a grand master. Neal might characterize the Old Gray Suit as a scary version of Grumpy Grandpa, but Neal doesn’t have the contacts that he has. He doesn’t know who the man really is, he doesn’t know that Hughes didn’t really retire that first time, that he spent the intervening years as a Section Chief for the NSA.
So Moz will meet with Reese Hughes at the old man’s pleasure. Fortunately, the old man likes burgers and shakes and Moz is willing to risk the consequences of a massive lactose intake when it’s Neal’s life on the line.
Moz snags a table and waits while Hughes stands on line. The old man finally arrives and puts two shakes – one strawberry, one chocolate – and a bag with a couple of extra-greasy cheeseburgers on the table. He pulls a burger out of the bag and tells him to eat up.
Moz grabs the strawberry one, shoves a straw into it and sucks. It’s so damn good he nearly faints. The old man unwraps his own burger and consumes it neatly, like an experienced predator. Moz waits for his stomach to rebel, but nothing happens and he takes a bite of his cheeseburger. It’s almost as good as the shake.
Finally the food is consumed, their shakes are reduced to melted dregs and Moz is in a bizarre state, hovering between a food coma and near-fatal anxiety.
“You didn’t get this from me.” Hughes slips something – probably a flash drive – under the pile of spent napkins.
Moz will take the usual precautions before accessing the data. “What about the other thing? You know what I need.”
Hughes smiles and pushes the greasy bag towards him. “I got you a few extra burgers. You might get hungry on your way to see Neal.”
The old man leaves without another word.
Moz shivers.
But he takes a deep breath. This is going to happen. He’s going to have to do this. No, Neal is going to have to do this.
It’s not the milk shake that’s making him sick.
Elizabeth waits for Peter in a cold and ugly room. On the inch-thick Lexan divider, the linoleum covered tables and the worn-out chairs, there’s subtle graffiti scratched into the surface, spelling out pain and anger and confusion. She understands these emotions.
It’s hard to breathe in this room, she feels like the walls are closing in, like she’ll never be able to leave. Or that this will be her life – days marked by hours spent waiting in rooms like this for a brief – too brief – moment with her husband. Talking but not talking, reaching out but not touching, hiding all the pain, all the fear.
A door opens on the other side and it’s her husband. It’s the first time she’s seen him since the bailiff put the cuffs on and led him away. She’s talked to Claude, to Diana, and to Clinton. They’ve all assured her that Peter will be fine, he’ll be out soon, and that this is all a terrible mistake.
Elizabeth won’t talk to Neal. She won’t spare a word or a thought for the man who has taken her husband away from her. Moz tiptoes quietly around her. She acknowledges his friendship, but she knows that he’s there to bridge the gap between her anger and Neal’s guilt.
It’s not a bridge she ever plans to cross.
Peter sits down and picks up the phone. She does the same.
“Hi, hon.”
Those two words carry a wealth of meaning, and El responds in kind. “Hi, hon.” Then she looks at Peter, she sees the bruises and the smile on her face freezes.
“I’m fine – you should see the other guy.” Peter does sound okay. And she knows how he feels about lying to each other, even for the best of reasons. But she’s angry and that bruise just stokes her rage.
“Really? You’re really fine? You’ve been arrested for the murder of a U.S. Senator, the judge wants the Government to push for the death penalty, you’ve lost your badge again and all you can say is ‘I’m fine’? That’s bullshit. You aren’t fine, and you know it.”
Elizabeth puts down the phone and buries her face in her hands. Peter may say he’s fine, he may even believe it, but she isn’t. It’s too much. Right now, it’s just too much to even pretend.
“El? Hon? Talk to me, please?” She hears his voice, quiet and steady, through the handset. It’s a lifeline that she grasps.
“I’m – I’m sorry.”
Peter rests a hand against the divider; she reaches out and mirrors the gesture. “I’m sorry, too – sorry that you have to go through this.”
He’s a saint, her husband. He’s lost everything and he’s worried about her. She feels mean and petty and small.
“We’ll get through this, please trust me.”
“I do, it just hurts.”
“I know, hon. I know. Maybe you shouldn’t come back here.”
Elizabeth almost wants to take that out. It would be so easy. “No – I’m your wife.” That answers everything. “I love you.”
They talk for a while, trying to keep the tone light. “Satchmo got frisky with Lenny, the Pedersons’ Golden Doodle. They were appalled, but Lenny seemed to enjoy it.”
Peter laughs, the sound is pure joy. “Well, with a breed name like that, what can you expect?”
El chuckles. The conversation goes like that for a bit. She tells him about her new clients, a Brazilian bridezilla and her monster-in-law to-be. The guard signals ‘five minutes’ and El knows that she has to say one more thing, if just to avoid lying.
“Before you even ask, I haven’t heard from Neal. I think he knows that I’m furious at him. And don’t you dare tell me not to be. If it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t be here.”
Peter’s expression is strange – resignation, pride and sadness. “You won’t hear from Neal, at least not until I get out of here.”
“You’ve told him to stay away? Good.”
“No, El. Not good.” Peter closes his eyes, as if what he’s about to tell her is hurting him. And her rage against Neal flares again. His answer, though, is unexpected and shocking. “Neal’s here. He’s back in prison. He’s my cellmate.”
“What?”
“He orchestrated something with Calloway, and he got her to send him here.” Peter laughs again. This time the sound is bitter. “He tells me he did it so he’ll be able to watch my back, to protect me. Neal Caffrey trying to protect me. How ridiculous is that?”
Elizabeth is shaken. This was the last thing she expected. She’s always understood that Neal’s feelings for Peter were profound. It was why she’s accepted him in their lives and his place in Peter’s heart. It’s why she can go to him when Peter’s in trouble. It’s been that way since the start. But this is beyond any expectations. She knows just how much Neal dreaded returning to prison, how he would have done anything to avoid it.
She’s grateful to Neal, and gratitude appeases her anger. She doesn’t let it show, though. “He did the right thing – for the right reason. Maybe for the first time in his life.” Her tone is steely and she hopes Peter doesn’t contradict her. She’s not prepared to lie to Peter right now. She’s too vulnerable. After she gets home, she will talk to Moz. They can formulate a plan to get Peter and Neal out of here.
Moz, though, has equally pressing concerns and he needs to talk to Neal, right now. He’s pacing around the attorney-client conference room like a hamster on a wheel. Finally, Neal’s escorted in.
“You’re insane.” Moz repeats the last words he said to Neal before he went to confront Calloway.
Neal shrugs. “I have no choice. Peter’s not equipped to ride this out alone.”
“I know, but still…” Moz sighs. He knows that Neal would risk anything for the Suit – just as he’d risk anything for him. That is the measure of this man, the quality of Neal Caffrey that makes him risk his own life and limb and sanity on far too many occasions.
“So, other than the obvious – what’s got you so wound up?”
“You’re not going to believe who’s here.” Moz is actually relishing the reveal, but he ends up disappointed. Neal already knows.
“MacLeish – or more accurately – our old friend, Henry Dobbs. We’ve already said our hellos, and I have to say, it wasn’t like old home week.”
“Shit.” Moz had hoped Neal hadn’t encountered MacLeish yet.
“Yeah.” Neal raises his eyebrows and gives him a nod. But he doesn’t know exactly how bad it is.
“You should know that he’s figured out that it was Peter who’s responsible for his unmasking back on Cape Verde.”
“I think he’s already tried to go after Peter. He’s sporting a couple of bruises, and so is his muscle. But they might not be his muscle any longer, considering how they took the news that MacLeish doesn’t honor his commitments.”
The news sends a chill through Moz. “You’ve been poking the tiger with a stick, Neal. Not smart.”
“I needed to draw a line, Moz. MacLeish has to know who he’s dealing with.”
“Well, considering how deep MacLeish’s pockets are – he’s really not going to care much about that line.”
“What are you saying?”
“It’s not just the inmates here that MacLeish can pay off. It’s the guards, too.”
“We can pay more, right?” Neal asks.
“Like that’s not a scenario that I haven’t already contemplated. You should know that he’s promised a six-figure bounty to the head guard for Peter. And now that he knows you’re here, you’re probably worth just as much.”
“Anyway we can prove that?” There’s a level of desperation in Neal’s question that Moz had anticipated.
“What are you thinking?” The question was superfluous; Moz already knows where Neal’s thoughts are heading.
“If we can show that Peter’s in critical danger – even from the guards – they’ll have to let him out on bail.”
“Or put him in solitary under military watch.” Moz can’t help but supply the worst case scenario.
Neal just looks at him, all floppy hair and puppy dog eyes. Moz knows that he’s too soft a touch. Besides, he’s prepared for this. “You’re going to have to get access to the guard’s personal cell phone. MacLeish transferred a down payment to a numbered account – we’re going to need get that confirmation.”
“That’s not going to be easy. Guards can’t carry personal cell phones during their shift. And how the hell am I going to get a cloner in here?”
“I’m already on that. Our friend, on the other side of the door, will work with us.”
“He’s trustworthy?”
“I know him, and once the guy’s bought, he stays bought. Those types are few and far between. Besides, he’s got incentive. Around here, it’s sort of like that episode of Star Trek – the one with the parallel universes – if his boss gets taken out, he’s going to be promoted.”
Neal sighs and closes his eyes. Moz knows he’s preparing himself for what needs to be done, no matter how unpleasant.
“How safe is Peter right now? In his cell, alone?”
“When they try for him, they’ll make it look like it was another inmate or even an accident. They won’t want anything coming back to them – not MacLeish, not the head guard.”
“So – tonight?”
“Yeah – be ready for tonight.” Moz slides a strip of foil-wrapped packets across the table; Neal tucks them into his pocket.
They discuss other, less fraught things, like locating James Bennett and making him talk until he begs for mercy. Moz thinks about doing it the Detroit Way – he’ll start with the man’s thumbs. But he doesn’t tell Neal that.
Neal gets that faraway look, the one that had become all too familiar in the days after Kate’s death. “I used to wonder – after Ellen told me that my father was dirty – if he just was caught up in circumstance or if he was truly evil. There was a short space of time when I truly regretted what I had become – when I thought that James was simply weak and had spent thirty years trying to make things right.”
“Neal …” Moz can’t really find the words.
“You know, Moz – you’re better off not knowing your folks. You can make them whatever you want them to be. You’ll never be disappointed by them.” Neal shakes his head, as if to dispel the memories. “Enough – we’ve got work to do.”
Moz goes to the door and signals for the guard. The man looks from him to Neal and back to him again and asks, “Your guy knows what he’s got to do – how this has to go down?”
“Yeah.” He gives the cloning device to the man and hopes that the Old Gray Suit doesn’t have kittens when he discovers that classified tech was in the hands of a low-level prison guard. “Neal’s going to need a five minute window – can you manage that?”
“Five minutes, can’t guarantee more than that. What about my money?”
Moz takes comfort in the venality of human nature. He hands the guard a thick envelope. “That’s half, the rest tomorrow. But only if Caffrey and Burke are in the same condition they are now – unharmed and breathing.”
The guard runs a thumb over the thick sheaf of bills. “Understood.”
He gestures to Neal, who turns to Moz before leaving. “Thanks.”
“Please, Neal – don’t.” Moz is still more than a little sick at the thought of what Neal’s got to do tonight. His gratitude only makes it worse.
Neal gives him that grin, the one that sucked him in so many years ago. “There’s a ‘90 Brunello hidden behind the winter coats in my closet. Help yourself.”
He thinks that he should display some outrage that Neal would secret such a spectacular vintage from him, but he can’t find it in himself to even fake it. “We’ll open it when you get out of here, okay?”
Once, when they were both a little drunk, both a little vulnerable, he asked Neal what was the worst thing about prison. Neal had made some off-hand and all too glib comment about the quality of the bedding and the lack of room service at Sing-Sing. Peter wouldn’t accept the deflection and when he pressed, something terrible passed across Neal’s face. Seeing that pain, he would have let the question go, but Neal decided to give him a serious answer.
“Boredom. Doing the same thing day after day, for all the endless days. That’s my idea of hell on earth, and I never want to go back.“
Peter remembers how Neal’s hand shook as he took a sip of wine, how he didn’t – wouldn’t – meet his eyes. He understood that boredom was only one of the torments of a prisoner in a cell, but at the time, he was sure that it wasn’t the worst.
Now, however; he isn’t so sure. Neal’s meeting with his attorney (Moz, he strongly suspects and actually hopes) and Peter is ready to climb the walls. It’s not nerves – he doesn’t think that Neal’s in any danger at the moment – it’s the lack of external stimulation. He suddenly wishes he took El up on the offer to go to yoga classes. Maybe he could find some inner peace that way.
Peter folds himself into what he hopes is an approximation of a lotus position, he rests his hands on his knees like he’s seen El do dozens of times and he takes a deep breath. He tries to find inner peace, but all he encounters is the noise of a self in turmoil. Will I get out of here? Will Bennett turn up and confess? Will I be able to protect Neal?
The questions roll over in his unquiet mind. There are no answers. His thighs and knees and calves begin to ache from the unfamiliar position. He’s conscious of his own slightly rancid body odor, the musty smell from the bedding, the underlying stench of sewage and desperation.
The clang of a key against metal breaks what little concentration Peter’s been able to achieve. It’s been three days and he knows the drill. He gets up and moves to the far end of the cell. It’s Neal, wearing his conman’s grin, a look of satisfaction; Peter doesn’t take any hope from that, especially if he’s been meeting with Moz. He’s also carrying himself with an odd sort of tension, as if he’s about to spring into action.
The door shuts, sealing them off from the world – such as it is – and Neal visibly relaxes.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
Both men ask and answer the question simultaneously and they laugh. The anger that Peter’s been carrying melts away. He rests his hands on Neal’s shoulders and pulls him close.
“You shouldn’t have done this, Neal. I can take care of myself.”
Neal sighs and shakes his head. “Peter – you’re a Fed in prison. You have no one to watch your back. And even if you’re not in GenPop, you’re still at risk.”
“And you’re the one to protect me?” Peter still finds the idea ludicrous.
“I spent four years in a place a lot worse than this and survived.”
Again, Peter wonders what Neal did, what bargains he made, how he kept them. Back in the beginning, Neal was like a butterfly loose from its chrysalis, focused on finding the good life (and Kate), and Peter didn’t think about the price he had paid for his safety in prison. He saw the letters in Neal’s DOC file – all those fellow convicts thanking him for his help – so he had conveniently let himself believe that Neal avoided the dark side of prison life.
Now, he regrets that willful blindness.
“How is El doing?” Neal’s flopped onto his bunk.
Peter sits down next to him, scoops up his feet and drapes them across his lap. “She’s holding up.”
“I hope she’ll forgive me someday.”
“There’s nothing to forgive, Neal. This was my call, from the beginning.” He finds himself petting Neal’s ankle, the one now bare of the tracker. It’s interesting how Neal stretches his leg, moving a little closer.
“I’ve brought nothing but chaos into your life.”
“Like I told you a few days ago, I would do it all over again. Kate, Fowler, Adler, the U-boat treasure, I regret nothing.”
Neal doesn’t want to let go of it. “Keller – what he did. You have to regret that?”
“Okay – yeah. I wouldn’t want anyone to take my wife again.”
“And Kramer?”
Peter has to laugh. “I got an interesting vacation out of it. Racked up a whole lot of frequent flyer miles going to Africa. And six weeks in the tropics didn’t exactly hurt you either.”
“Collins shot me.”
“Oh, yeah. Forgot about that.” Peter runs his hand down Neal’s thigh. He can feel the slight indentation from the bullet scar.
Neal twitches at the contact – the almost-caress – and plays what he probably thinks is his trump card. “What about Hughes? If I hadn’t – “
Peter cuts him off. “Neal, stop it. There’s nothing that you can say that will make me blame you for this. Remember what I told you that day?”
“What day?”
“After Elizabeth was taken and Moz had shown up. We had gone back to your apartment, to regroup. I told you that it wasn’t your fault – that Keller kidnapped Elizabeth, not you. Whatever actions preceded that, whatever you had done, you still weren’t responsible for Matthew Keller taking my wife.”
He can feel Neal tense at every mention of Keller’s name and has to wonder what they once were to each other. Well, they have time and not much else to do; he’ll get the story out of Neal, eventually.
Neal goes quiet, but Peter can tell he’s thinking. “Whatever you’re planning, stop.”
Neal’s eyebrows get lost in the stratosphere. “I’m not planning anything.”
“Until recently, you’ve had an excellent track record of not lying to my face. Don’t fall into bad habits now.”
“Peter – I have no plans to break you out of prison. I’m here to watch your back, make sure that nothing happens to you until you get out of here.”
He knows that there’s a loophole in that assertion big enough to swallow the Grand Canyon. It’s all part of their game, even here. Neal gives him just enough assurance so he can sleep at night, then goes and violates the spirit, if not the letter of their promise. Peter won’t sleep on this one, though – there’s too much at risk.
Tags:
- character: clinton jones,
- character: diana berrigan,
- character: elizabeth burke,
- character: mozzie,
- character: neal caffrey,
- character: ofc,
- character: omc,
- character: peter burke,
- character: reese hughes,
- genre: angst,
- genre: emotional trauma,
- genre: episode tag,
- genre: family,
- genre: friendship,
- genre: hurt/comfort,
- genre: pre-ot3,
- genre: prison fic,
- genre: slash,
- kink: barebacking,
- kink: dub-con/non-con,
- pairing: neal/peter,
- pairing: peter/elizabeth,
- type: fan fiction,
- type: longfic,
- wc verse: keep the creatures,
- white collar,
- year: 2013
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2013-04-08 03:19 pm (UTC)I wonder what Neal and Mozzie are up to. El's emotions in the waiting room/meeting room/whatever feel real. Love the line about Neal playing Callaway like a Stradivarius!
no subject
Date: 2013-04-08 03:26 pm (UTC)I hope this continues to live up to your expectations.
no subject
Date: 2013-04-08 04:02 pm (UTC)This is an excellent beginning - the emotions are running high, both Peter and Neal are having a hard time relaxing. All the cons that are being played, all the details. Ah! This is amazing!
I cannot wait for more. Thank you!!
no subject
Date: 2013-04-08 05:05 pm (UTC)Your cheerleading and enthusiasm in the chats really helped push this forward for me.
no subject
Date: 2013-04-08 04:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-04-08 05:03 pm (UTC)Part Two tomorrow - I'm not that much of a sadistic bastard to string you out for a week.
no subject
Date: 2013-04-08 05:03 pm (UTC)Oh, wow. What an incredible, gripping setup! I can't wait to find out what Neal and Moz are planning. And Neal is my hero, going to prison to protect Peter. I find it a very Neal thing to do, Peter is his everything so he would definitely do anything for him... sacrifice anything... awww ♥
Love it how hearing about Neal's actions were enough for El to see that anger won't get them anywhere.
Aaah, the suspense! Is it tomorrow already? :D
no subject
Date: 2013-04-09 12:18 am (UTC)Thank you for the most incredible feedback. I hope part two lives up to your enthusiasm.
no subject
Date: 2013-04-08 05:07 pm (UTC)Fantastic work, I'm really looking forward to the next part.
no subject
Date: 2013-04-09 12:19 am (UTC)You've see just what I was trying to do - give this a breathless pacing. I hope you enjoy part two as much.
no subject
Date: 2013-04-08 05:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-04-09 12:20 am (UTC)Yeah, it's going to get a lot worse before it gets better.
no subject
Date: 2013-04-08 06:13 pm (UTC)Brava
no subject
Date: 2013-04-09 12:13 am (UTC)Part two will go up tomorrow.
no subject
Date: 2013-04-08 07:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-04-09 12:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-04-08 09:20 pm (UTC)not having any coherent thoughts
Mind Blowing...Did i tell you i love badass Neal..and it including all the characters is like cherry on my cake
no subject
Date: 2013-04-09 12:12 am (UTC)I love badass Neal too. And he's definitely a badass here.
no subject
Date: 2013-04-09 12:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-04-09 12:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-04-09 12:19 am (UTC)Anyway, as usual, your stories are amazing.
In thinking about Season Five I was wondering about the death penalty thing and thinking that since Pratt could be considered a witness, his murder would be a federal crime and hence subject to the death penalty. That's something I'd be surprised if they don't broach in Season 5.
When Peter says, “I know – be prepared for the worst,” my first thought was, do any of them have any concept of just how bad it can get?
When Jones is there for Neal when he gets processed, lord, I was crying.
Neal’s encounter with McLeish, brilliant play but oh Neal, his self proclaimed mission and what he must endure to accomplish it is breaking my heart.
I’m glad that Elizabeth is turning around on her feelings concerning Neal. “He did the right thing- for the right reason.” Hopefully Peter will start to take it easy on Neal again, because of Elizabeth.
I love Peter trying yoga. It does take a lot of practice to get any type of benefit.
So I’m thinking in part II that Neal is going to have to do some really awful thing or endure some really awful thing in order to keep Peter safe and Peter is going to have the guilt trip of all guilt trips over it.
Can't wait.
no subject
Date: 2013-04-09 12:23 am (UTC)Actually, Pratt's murder is a capital crime - the killing of a Congressman, a Senator, a member of the Cabinet, a federally appointed judge, and of course, the President or Vice President is capital murder and warrants the death penalty. The judge has complete leeway in denying bail in accordance with the Federal bail statutes.
no subject
Date: 2013-04-09 12:48 am (UTC)I love Neal's utter determination to protect Peter, and that moment when Peter thinks Neal's heading back to Sing Sing and can't think about anything else.
And I love that Hughes didn't retire and was working for NSA. Awesome.
*bites nails whilst waiting for tomorrow*
no subject
Date: 2013-04-09 12:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-04-09 02:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-04-09 12:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-04-09 02:53 am (UTC)"Peter’s gone.
Nothing matters more than saving Peter – his life, his sanity, his soul. His own life isn’t worth anything if Peter isn’t in this world."
Peter and Neal --- two men who complement each other completely.
no subject
Date: 2013-04-09 12:20 pm (UTC)I hope the next parts continue to meet your expectations.
no subject
Date: 2013-04-09 05:00 am (UTC)And, you know by painful, I mean emotionally fraught, not bad writing painful. As a matter of fact, the emotionally fraught is all the worse because of the really good writing.
And by that I mean things like the paragraph where you describe Neal reasons for being who he is and doing what he does and I can't find it again right now, but you know the one I mean, and it's brilliant and there are quite a few line s like that in here.
There's plot too, I like plot. I'm looking forward to a lot more of it.
And Hughes!
no subject
Date: 2013-04-09 12:21 pm (UTC)Yes, plot here was important - it was difficult too. And you'll be happy to know that Hughes continues to play an important role in this fic.
And the really sticky parts are coming up in today's chapter. I hope it meets your expectations.
no subject
Date: 2013-04-12 06:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-04-24 05:21 pm (UTC)Hope you enjoy the rest just as much ;)