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elrhiarhodanTitle: My Charade (is the event of the season)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Neal Caffrey (Eventual P/N, P/E/N), AD Bancroft
Spoilers: None, A/U from 2.09 forward
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Sequel/Fill-in to Between the Darkness and the Dawn
Word Count: ~8200
Summary: The FBI Agent Training program is twenty weeks long. The following story is a series of vignettes of Neal going through that program at Quantico. He’s not going to become an agent. His participation is the result of a deal he struck with AD Bancroft a few months before his work release ended, and he’s been promised a position as the lead analyst for the White Collar division in New York. He never told Peter where he was going, and in fact, he and Peter parted in anger. For the full story, please read Between the Darkness and the Dawn.
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Author’s Notes: Written forginnyvos, who got me on the “Stump the Author” meme I ran last month. She wanted a story about Neal being awesome at Quantico, which sparked the memory of an idea I had for a sequel to Between the Darkness and the Dawn. I have structured this tale so it stands alone, but the experience will be richer if you’ve read that story. There were a few minor details from the original story that I’ve had to retcon - such as Neal going in with his real name and some of the timing - a few of the things that Neal reveals in his letter to Peter at the very end of Between the Darkness.
The original story was written in September, 2010, before Forging Bonds aired and builds upon a mythology I created, where Neal and Kate and Moz were working their criminal magic through Europe. Neal’s first encounter with Agent Peter Burke is on the Rialto Bridge in Venice, where he spots Peter and does what comes quite naturally to him. He jumps off the Rialto (a fairly common thing) and lands on the roof of a passing water bus.
Beta credit:rabidchild67, cheerleader credit: jrosemary. Feedback is naturally appreciated.
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“You are a sorry excuse for a man, and an even sorrier excuse for a friend. I never thought I’d say this but if I had the chance to make that choice again, right now, I wouldn’t take that meeting you asked for. I don’t care that I could still be chasing the Dutchman. All your talent, all your brilliance isn’t worth the hell you’ve put me through these past four years.”
Between The Darkness and The Dawn, Chapter II
One - Before Week One
Neal shouldered his duffle bag and headed to the main hall at Union Station. He had been told that someone would be meeting him there. He wasn’t expecting AD Bancroft.
“Sir.” It had been more than eight months since he accepted Bancroft’s proposal. Was he here to tell him that the deal was off?
Apparently not. The agent smiled and held out his hand; Neal took it. “Are you ready for this, Caffrey?”
“Would you believe me if I said I was?”
“Having second thoughts?”
Neal ducked his head. “My second thoughts have had second thoughts.” And then some.
“Good, then you’re ready.” Bancroft didn’t say anything more and Neal wasn’t inclined to indulge in idle conversation. The cold, gray morning in D.C. was an unpleasant reminder of the season. He shivered and hunched in his jacket.
“Cold?” The AD broke his silence.
“Yeah. A bit of a shock to the system.”
“I expect it would be after the Amalfi Coast, right?”
Neal wondered how Bancroft knew that he spent the last two weeks of his “vacation” there.
“I’ve been tracking your passport.”
He shook his head. Some things were never going to change. “Trust but verify?”
“I came of age with the Bureau during the Reagan administration.”
They pulled out of the Union Station parking lot. Neal never spent a lot of time in D.C. and he supposed that they were heading towards Quantico. He was surprised when Bancroft passed the southbound exits for Virginia and drove them into the center of Washington.
All the other man said was, “We have some details to take care of first.” And those details apparently needed to be taken care of at FBI headquarters.
It may have been a Sunday, but the Hoover Building was far from deserted. They passed through security and he trailed Bancroft like a puppy on a leash. It was an odd feeling – Neal Caffrey wasn’t a man to be cowed by anyone or anything, but this was unsettling.
Bancroft led him to a small, windowless room. “Take a seat, Caffrey. I’ll be back in a moment.”
That moment was more like ten minutes, but in the interval, a very young probationary agent came with a cup of coffee. Neal smiled and tried to make conversation. “They make you come in on the weekends to serve coffee?”
The man glared at him and left.
Caffrey – you are so out of practice. He took a sip of the coffee, and it was hard to believe, but it was worse than the sludge in the New York office. Bancroft came back in and must have seen the exchange.
“Don’t mind Arthur. He is a little annoyed at the assignment today.”
“I thought the life of a probie was filled with getting coffee and running errands.”
Bancroft shrugged. “Yep, and sometimes their bosses ask them to come in on Sundays when they have tickets to a matinee at the Kennedy Center to do just that. But that’s nothing you’re going to have to be concerned about.”
The knot of worry that had been tightening since he saw Bancroft loosened. “Why am I here, then?”
“I like that about you, Caffrey. You know when to stop playing the social engineer and be direct.”
Neal grimaced. “Would it be revealing too much if I said this ...” he gestured around with his coffee cup, “is unnerving me?”
Bancroft smiled. “It’s nice to know that I can put the great Neal Caffrey off his game.” The man took a sip of his own coffee and made a face. “That boy had better learn how to make a decent cup of coffee, or his probie years are going to be very long and very uncomfortable.”
Neal lifted his cup, took another sip and pushed it as far away from himself as possible. “I do have to say that this is possibly the worst cup of coffee I’ve ever had.”
“Well, it’s better than what I make myself.” Bancroft slid a manila envelope across the table to him. “Open it.”
Neal did, pulling out a comprehensive set of identification for Benjamin Cooper. He blinked and looked up at Bancroft. “Sir – what is this for?”
“I thought you’d realize that you couldn’t go into the Academy as ‘Neal Caffrey’. You’re probably on the syllabus in several classes.”
Neal blinked and tried to squelch the feeling of pleasure at the knowledge that he was still considered one of the world’s best ... criminals. “I’m part of the course work?”
Bancroft nodded. “And I believe that your mug shot may be a part of the materials. It could get embarrassing.” Bancroft gave him a look. “Is there a problem with using an alias?”
Neal rubbed the back of his neck. “I had hoped not to have to go in with a lie.” Using an alias sort of defeated that.
“You don’t have a choice.” Bancroft took a sip of his coffee and looked like he’d regret it for days. “Unless you don’t want to go?”
Neal looked at the identification, there was a New York State driver’s license and a social security card, some old “family” photos, and a few credit cards to round out the package.
“Those aren’t forgeries, you know.”
He nodded. “I appreciate the level of trust, Sir.” He pulled out his wallet and extracted his own ID and tossed it into the now-empty manila envelope.
“Your cell phone and passport, Neal.” Bancroft actually smirked at him.
Neal shook his head, laughing as he added the last items to the envelope and resealed it. “Why Benjamin Cooper? I really don’t have a well-developed mythology for him.”
“Why do you think?”
Neal scrubbed his eyes. He shouldn’t be off his game so badly that he had to struggle to figure this out. “Okay - Cooper was an FBI set up. You know it’s a clean ID and the background data is already in place.” He remembered that the New York team had even inserted his picture into his high school and college yearbooks and shipped them back to those institutions. His job history was equally verifiable. But everything else about Cooper was up in the air.
“Good – there’s enough for you to work with and not so much that you’ll tie yourself in knots trying to remember all the details.”
Neal wasn’t sure that he shouldn’t be insulted by the insinuation that he couldn’t manage a deep cover identity. It was just that he didn’t want to have to. “Understood.”
“You ready to go?” Bancroft didn’t wait for an answer and he called the probie. “Arthur’s going to drive you to Quantico.”
The probie knocked and came in. He glared at Neal again.
They both stood up and Bancroft held out his hand. “Good luck, Cooper.”
Neal’s stomach roiled. “Thank you, Sir.”
Two - Week One
The first day of weapons training was the closest he came to bailing so far. They were going to work with the Glock 22 semi automatic - the standard issue firearm for all FBI agents.
Emily, the undisputed leader of the Army Brats chuckled and called it a toy, Matthew and Stephen concurred. The trio of Afghan and Iraqi War veterans seemed determined to include him in their fellowship. Neal had quietly tried to discourage them, but the three clung to him like limpets. He couldn’t quite understand why, he had nothing in common with the former soldiers. But they wanted to embrace him and he was tired of being an outsider. Peter had ruined that for him.
“Ever fire one of those, Coop?” Matthew was always the first one to ask him about his background. Emily would follow up with more probing questions when he didn’t answer. Stephen, his roommate, thankfully seemed to respect his not-so-subtle need for privacy.
He wanted to give them his usual demurrer, “I’m not really a gun guy” but he couldn’t. They were getting ready for their first target practice - the initial assessment of their weapons proficiency. He thought about faking it, but quickly discarded the idea. Ironically, a moderate display of skill would mean less time on the range.
“Coop?” Matthew asked again.
“Yeah – I’ve used a Glock.” And probably more types of handguns and rifles before I was twenty-one than you’ll see in your lifetime.
The instructor commanded their attention and gave the regulation spiel about gun safeyy, demonstrating the weapon’s key features, how to load, unload and field strip the model. When he finished the demo, they all donned their headgear and followed the instructor onto the range. There were a surprising number of trainees who hadn’t handled a gun before, and needed special instruction. In a rather disgusted tone, Emily called them accountants. Their Field Counselor overheard and gave them the stink eye.
Neal’s turn on the range came all too soon. Before firing he was asked to field-strip the weapon, something he was still able to do with his eyes closed. The instructor nodded and handed him a box of ammunition. He loaded the clip and chambered a round.
“Five strings, two rounds each. Aim for the torso. De-cock between strings.”
Neal tried to forget the last time he did this, at the gun range in Federal Plaza. Hughes had forced the issue and he needed to demonstrate his proficiency. Peter hadn’t been happy with that. Peter hadn’t been happy about a lot of things.
“Mr. Cooper, sometime today, please?”
Neal shook his head, trying to dispel the ghosts. The target had been set at a laughably close ten yards. He fired as instructed, and while he could have nailed the paper target in the heart with all ten shots, that would have called unwanted attention to his marksmanship. The target was reeled in and the instructor was suitably impressed. “Good job, Cooper. Nine out of ten shots placed.”
The Brats gave him the group high five. Nine out of ten was good, maybe too good. He would have been better with placing eight or even seven. He watched his friends take their turns. Emily, who’d been a tactical specialist for three tours in Iraq and a team leader in Afghanistan, turned in a perfect score, as did Matthew. His roommate, Stephen, missed two and they gave him a bit of a ribbing for that.
Neal wanted to head back to quarters, to shower, to wash off the stink of gunpowder, but there was no time. There never was.
Heading back to the main building, Matthew asked, “Where did you learn to shoot, Coop? That was pretty impressive for a civilian.”
Neal shrugged.
“Ah, Coop’s being all mysterious.” That was from Emily, who was determined to get his life history. “Tell us, was your daddy a secret agent who gave you your first handgun when you were just a baby?”
Neal pretended to be shocked. “Who told you?” He smiled though, making sure that everyone got the joke. The thing was, Emily was hitting a little too close to the truth.
“Come on, Coop. What gives?” Matthew kept up the pressure.
“Didn’t you hear Emily? My daddy gave me my first handgun when I was five. A little poodle shooter. Practically grew up on a target range.” He let just the faintest hint of a regional accent color his voice.
Matthew and Stephen shook their heads and gave up. Emily looked at him. “You know, no one likes a wiseass.”
“And for some strange reason, you’re reminding me of my fourth grade math teacher. Not a good look for you.”
The guys hooted and Emily glared, then gave him a twisted smile. “Good one, Coop. I’m going to figure you out before this is all over.”
Neal gave her a small, tight smile. “There’s nothing to figure out – what you see is what you get.”
“And that, Benjamin Cooper, is the biggest bucket of horseshit I’ve heard from you yet.”
Three - Week Four
“Hey, Coop - wanna go for a run?” They started calling him “Coop” the first day out and Neal supposed it was better than “Ben” or God-forbid, “Benji.” The Brats were kitted out for a cross-country run on the Academy’s famed Yellow Brick Road.
He shrugged. A run sounded good; something to work off the tension. “Give me five, I need to change.”
He joined them in front of the dormitory building. It was cold, but not so bitter that it would be impossible to complete. Winter released its grip early in northern Virginia.
Neal normally didn’t like to run with anyone else, but the Academy actively encouraged teamwork and he already had gotten one very subtle dressing down for going it alone.
The Brats chatted amongst themselves and Neal gave their conversation half an ear. They were talking about Fallujah or Baghdad or Kandahar or someplace dry and rocky and full of people trying to kill them. He really didn’t have anything to add to that discussion.
The Yellow Brick Road was difficult, even for him. The patches of snow and ice that clogged the narrow track made running the course even more of a hazard. This was one of the reasons why he agreed to the run - left alone too long, he began to brood. To think about all he left behind, and how badly he miscalculated the cost of his departure. Running helped, to a point - when he hit the zone, letting his body work without conscious effort, memories kicked in. But today, the ground was slick and he needed to concentrate on keeping his footing.
They successfully made it through all of the bear traps, obstacles and walls climbs. By the time they finished the fourth mile and arrived at the infamous twelve-foot high cargo net, Neal wanted to just drop. But the Brats were all gung-ho - and why wouldn’t they be? No one was shooting at them these days.
“Wanna go first, Coop?”
Neal sighed and at this moment so wished he never agreed to Bancroft’s offer. He launched himself at the unstable net and began to climb. He’d done this before without a problem, but today wasn’t going to be a good one for him. He made it halfway up and his left foot slipped on the rope - it was covered in a layer of ice and his right hand lost its grip. He ended up in an ignominious pile in the frozen sand.
“Come on, you can do it.” The trio cheered him on. “Come on, come on, Cooper!”
Neal, being Neal, wasn’t about to let something as simple as a frozen cargo net defeat him. He got up, brushed himself off and rubbed his feet in the sand to give him traction on the ice. With a lot of embarrassment and a little help, he made it up and over on his third attempt. The other three had no problems getting over and Neal felt old and tired. The worst was yet to come - the combat crawl through the frozen mud, under a net of barbed wire.
Neal once again reminded himself that he was doing this for a reason. That he needed to find a way to stand on his own, to be … yeah - the man, not the con.
He crawled on his belly and tried to keep his mind focused on the space in front of him, but he kept hearing Peter’s voice, “You are a piece of work, Caffrey. I thought I knew you. I thought you were better than this. But I was wrong. You’re still the same thoughtless, immature, irresponsible child that lied and cheated and stole until he was sent to prison.” He wanted to just stop, to sink into the mud, to disappear forever.
“Coop - just a few more feet, you can do it! Just a few more feet!” Emily’s cheer broke through the funk and he pulled himself along, inch by inch until first his head, then his shoulders cleared the barbed wire and finally, he was free. Covered head to toe in mud, but he was free.
Neal stood up and surveyed the terrain. It was another five miles back to the dorms, and not all of it was down hill. He’d make it. He’d have to. There was no one here that would bail him out of trouble.
Matthew, who’d been in the same unit as Emily in Iraq, handed him a bottle of water. “You okay, Cooper? You usually do this like you were born to it.”
Neal shrugged. “Off day - I’ll do better tomorrow.” He handed the water back to Matthew with a thank you.
Stephen made a comment about his fine manners and Neal shook his head. “It doesn’t cost anything to be polite.”
The Brats had a good laugh, Matthew clapped him on the back and they started on the run back. With each step through the mud and debris, Neal missed New York even more. What he wouldn’t give for a taxi, some hard pavement and a crowd of surly pedestrians.
What he wouldn’t give for a smile from Peter.
Four - Week Eight
“Cooper, Benjamin?”
Neal turned around to see who was calling. It was an administrator, someone he didn’t recognize. “Yes?”
“You’re wanted upstairs, follow me.” The woman’s tone was chilling.
A sick, scary feeling unfurled like some rank, night-blooming flower in the pit of his stomach.
“Umm – I’m going to be late for lectures.” Stupid – it was the only thing he could think of saying.
“Your instructor has been notified. This way.” She steered him to a quiet, carpeted hallway and opened a door. Bancroft was waiting.
“Sir?”
The AD gestured with his head and the administrator closed the door behind her.
“Is everything all right?” Neal couldn’t begin to imagine why he was here. “Is it Peter – Agent Burke, is he all right?”
“Sit, Cooper. Relax – everything’s fine.” Bancroft himself took a seat and Neal followed suit. “I’m just here to see how you’re doing. Checking up on the progress of my little ‘project,’ so to speak.”
The wave of relief was almost nauseating.
“And how are you doing?”
Neal swallowed, his mouth was bone dry. “I’m fine – doing just fine.”
Bancroft opened a file. “Based on the first quarter reports, I’d say that you’re doing more than just fine. Your instructors are impressed – top scores in all of your academics. Your physical training is going well, though the hand-to-hand coach has noted that you prefer to try and talk your way out of situations.”
Neal grinned. “I’m not a fan of physical violence.”
“Hmmm.” The AD looked at him with narrowed eyes. “You’re marksmanship training is going exceptionally well, too. You doing okay with that?”
“As well as can be expected.” Neal shrugged.
“I am surprised that you’re not turning in perfect scores”
“Figured that it would be less comment-worthy if I didn’t.” He shrugged again.
“I can accept that.” Bancroft looked at the file again. “Your field counselor notes that you’ve become friends with a group of trainees who are ex-military. Not the companions I’d have expected you to choose.”
“I’m not running a con on them, if that’s what you’re implying.” Neal was getting annoyed. “One is my roommate; the other two are mutual friends. They seem to enjoy my company.”
Bancroft held up a hand, a calming gesture. “No need to get defensive. I’m just trying to make sure there aren’t any problems.”
Neal apologized and was anxious to get back to his schedule. “Is that all, Sir?” His tone was stiff, and he realized it bordered on the disrespectful.
“I’m not the enemy, Neal.”
Hearing his own name – or at least the one he’d used for all his adult life - for the first time in months, calmed him. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting you, this. I feel like I’ve been called to the principal’s office and I have no idea what I’ve done wrong.”
“This is an interesting facet of your character – I think I like it.” Bancroft chuckled. “You can go, get back to your lectures.”
Neal got up. “Thank you.” He turned to leave, and then turned back. “One question, Sir?”
“Yes?”
“How is everyone?” Neal hoped he didn’t sound too pitiful, too needy.
“Everyone?”
“In New York – the White Collar division. Is everyone okay?”
“Ah. Everyone’s fine. Or so Hughes tells me. I don’t get up there that often. But don’t you keep in touch?”
“No. I thought it best to keep them out of the loop on this. They think I’m in an ashram in India”
Bancroft laughed at that. “Probably a wise choice. I’d love to be a fly on the wall when they do find out where you’ve been. But everyone’s fine. Next time I stop by, I’ll see if I can scrape up some gossip for you. It’s good that you miss them.”
That’s putting it mildly “Thank you, Sir. And thank you for checking in on me.”
“Keep up the good work, Cooper. I’ll see you in a month or so.”
“Looking forward to it.”
“Somehow, I believe that.”
Five - Week Ten
Neal was on his bunk, studying for the mid-term in Warrant Law. Benjamin Cooper may have been a Harvard Law School grad, but Neal Caffrey had more real life experience with the Fourth Amendment than anyone in his class, probably even more than his instructors.
It had taken about two weeks before he realized that the four years he spent with Peter and the team had given him the same training he was getting here. He could provide a moment by moment syllabus. But he still needed to pay attention and turn in stellar academics - that was part of his agreement with Bancroft. No coasting.
And he was keeping his promise. He was at the top of all his classes - so much so that he was in danger of receiving honors for both academics and firearms proficiency. That would be embarrassing, since he wasn’t going to be attending the graduation ceremonies.
“Coop? Can I ask you something?”
He looked up from his notes. “Sure.” Stephen was a surprisingly decent roommate. Maybe it was from all the years he’d been deployed in Iraq, living in close quarters with his fellow soldiers. He was almost obsessively neat, he didn’t feel the need to talk, didn’t pry, and played a decent game of chess. Not as good as Moz, but there were few people, alive or dead, who were.
“Are you gay?”
“What?” Of all the questions he had been expecting - this was the last thing he expected.
“Not that it’s an issue or anything. Just curious.”
Neal sat up and looked at his roommate. “Why do you ask?”
Stephen rubbed the back of his neck and gave him a rueful look. “You talk in your sleep sometimes.”
“I do?” That wasn’t good news.
“Yeah – not a lot, but you’re always calling out for someone named Peter. Sometimes it’s - well, sexy, sometimes you sound like you’re crying or you’re angry. Is he your partner?”
Neal was appalled and had no idea how to answer.
Stephen kept talking though. “Look – you’re like the most private person I’ve ever met. You’ve managed to hold Em off for nearly three months, and that girl should have been an interrogator for the CIA. I swear, she could get a stone to talk and you just slide away. You don’t have to tell me. And if you do – I won’t tell anyone.”
“Being an enigma is my natural state.” He tried for a smile.
Stephen let out a bark of laughter. “Good one, Coop. I like that – you should have it printed on a t-shirt.” He paused and sobered up. “But seriously – I’m not prying for the sake of, well, prying.”
“Then why are you asking?”
“Well – there’s a reason why I left the military.” When Neal didn’t say anything, Stephen continued. “DADT may have been repealed, but it’s still not easy being gay in the Service. “
“And you’re telling me this because?” Neal had a sinking feeling about where this was going.
Stephen shrugged. “I was just wondering if, well ... if you were in a relationship. If ‘Peter’ was your partner. And if he wasn’t or it’s over, whether you’d consider...”
Neal didn’t say anything for a moment, considering his words very carefully. “Stephen, I’m flattered…”
“But you’re not interested.” The other man flopped back onto his bunk, picked up his pillow and tried to smother himself. “Shit. I have so screwed this up.”
“No, no. You haven’t screwed anything up. It’s just - complicated. Peter and I didn’t part on the best of terms - but I have hopes of reconciliation.”
“You still love him?” Stephen rolled over and looked at him.
“Yeah. Very much. You have no idea how much.” Neal swallowed hard, fighting the pain. “He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“What went wrong?”
Neal shook his head. “I really can’t talk about it. Sorry.”
Stephen laughed, a short, bitter sound. “Typical Cooper - never wants to talk about himself.”
Neal didn’t respond to the baiting and pretended to study. The minutes ticked by in aching silence.
“Coop?”
Neal sighed. “What, Stephen?”
“We okay?”
“Yeah, we’re fine.” He looked at his roommate. “Believe me - I wish I could take you up on your offer, but …”
“Yeah - yeah. I hope you and Peter can resolve your problems. I hope someday he learns how much you love him.”
So do I.
Six - Week Fifteen
Despite Bancroft’s assertions, “Neal Caffrey” only appeared on the syllabus a few short weeks before the end of the training program.
“To Catch a Thief” was the rather colorful title of the document sent to their tablets when they arrived for the day’s lecture. The instructor had an announcement to go along with it. “Normally, the Caffrey case would be a footnote in your investigative techniques class --”
Neal was just a little outraged to be relegated to a “footnote.” After all, George Oswald had given his career a full week. Then his blood went cold.
“But we’re going to have a very special guest lecturer. You may have seen the posting for Bill Carmody and his talk on hostage negotiation. Unfortunately, Agent Carmody had a severe heart attack several weeks ago. While he’s making good progress on his recovery, we’ve arranged for a substitute lecturer. Peter Burke, the senior case agent in the New York White Collar Crime Division will be presenting on the effective use of criminal and confidential informants.”
Neal couldn’t help himself. He knew he should keep his mouth shut, but the old impulse control issues reared their ugly head. He raised his hand and didn’t wait for the instructor to call on him. “So what does this …” he flicked back and forth through the file, “Neal Caffrey have to do with Peter Burke?”
That was the cue for the lecturer to give the FBI’s perspective on his own criminal career and it was a rather interesting experience. Neal couldn’t ever remember having his ego pumped and deflated quite so often in such a short span of time. He was initially described as a small time grifter who caught the attention of the FBI with his forgeries of the Atlantic Partners bonds - and if not for the dogged attentions of Agent Peter Burke, he would have remained off of the FBI’s radar for years. Then came the rather unflattering description of his depredations across Europe, his suspected cons and schemes. There were at least a half-dozen crimes that the FBI had attributed to Neal Caffrey or his aliases that he had no involvement in and no way to correct. And of course, his original apprehension, his escape and recapture was not presented in a very favorable light to him. Peter, however, came off as the champion of justice.
So he sat there, sweating, hands clutching the desk, ignoring the odd looks from the Brats.
The overview ended and the instructor advised them to study the materials and come up with a lot of good questions for Agent Burke. But the horror wasn’t quite over. One of the Field Counselors, Michael Stokes took the podium and started talking about “Big Bad Peter Burke.” It seemed that Stokes had not only been an Academy classmate, they had shared part of their probie years under Kramer. Stokes made it seem like Peter was an invincible, crime-fighting demi-god, he could bounce bullets off his chest like Superman, and secure convictions with the powers of his mind alone. Stokes didn’t mention Peter’s wicked sense of humor, his biting tongue or his beautiful eyes.
Neal ached. He sat there and pretended that all of this was academic, but the pain was devastating. He missed Peter, not just the physical connection - that had been all too brief. He missed their closeness, that sharp mind striking sparks off his, the camaraderie, the easy friendship. The impossible friendship.
“You okay?” Stephen leaned over and gave him a concerned look.
“Dunno - think I ate something. Not good.” Neal swallowed, and he wasn’t pretending that he was trying not to retch.
“Something wrong, Cooper?” Stokes noticed the interaction and stopped talking about Peter.
“He’s sick, Agent Stokes.” Stephen answered for him.
Neal held up a hand - to signal that he was okay, but Stephen practically picked him up and hauled him out of the classroom. “Wouldn’t be too good if you barfed in front of everyone. On top of everyone.”
Neal nodded and let Stephen steer him to the mens room. He didn’t vomit but leaned over the sink and scrubbed his face with cold water. Stephen stood by, watching intently.
“Do you want to go to the Infirmary?”
He dried off. “No thanks - I’m okay. I think.” No - I’m not, but it’s nothing that can be fixed with pills or a bland diet. He tossed the paper towel away. “Come on, let’s get back to class.”
The lecture, however, was over. Matthew and Emily met them outside the classroom. Emily handed him his tablet. “This feels way too high school-ish, if you ask me. Did you go see the nurse?”
Before Neal could say anything, Stephen stepped in. “Give it a rest, Em.”
Neal answered. “It’s okay - must have been something I ate. I’m fine now.”
The Brats looked at him, but there was nothing else to say. At least about this.
Neal tried to break the tension. “So what do you think about the new lecturer?”
Matthew launched into an encomium that was worthy of Shakespeare.
“When did you fall in love with Peter Burke?” Neal forced himself to ask.
“I’m writing my thesis on him - the Spanish Victory Bond forgery case. The first time he used Neal Caffrey as a CI.”
And another wave of nausea struck. “Huh?”
Emily interrupted. “Matthew has a way of becoming obsessed. You’ll have to ignore him unless you want to spend the next five weeks hearing about his hero.”
Matthew turned beet-red. “Come on, Em. You heard Stokes - the guy’s a legend, and he’s coming here.”
“You’d think he was J. Edgar himself the way Matthew goes on about Burke.” Emily quipped.
Neal considered his options, he’d already exposed too much of himself. He went for misdirection. “Well, hopefully this Peter Burke doesn’t like to wear dresses.” The Brats - even Matthew - chuckled. Neal hoped that some day, he and Peter would be able to laugh about this too.
They split up - Em and Stephen headed for the range, Matthew had spotted Agent Stokes and apparently wanted to pump him for more information about Peter, and Neal was going to go back to his room and do some work on his own thesis.
“Cooper, Benjamin.” It was that damn administrator calling him name.
Neal closed his eyes. He so didn’t want to have to see Bancroft right now. But like the good dog he seemed to be evolving into, Neal followed her upstairs.
Seven - Week Eighteen
“Come on, Coop - don’t you want to get a good seat?” Matthew was still doing his best imitation of an Irish Setter puppy. To his delight, he had been asked to pick Peter up at Union Station and last night, it was all about Burke and the team that came down from New York. Diana and Clinton were giving part of the lecture, apparently.
The last thing he wanted was to be down in front. He needed to hide or ditch the lecture altogether.
“Leave him alone, Matthew. Not everyone shares your enthusiasms.” Stephen stepped in. Neal gave him a puzzled look. His relationship with Stephen remained on an even keel for the most part. Up until a few weeks ago, there was no awkwardness between them, but suddenly he’d catch Stephen giving him strange, searching looks. He had the feeling that his roommate knew just who he was. Neal was waiting for him to say something. But he never did.
Matthew shook his head and sped off to claim a seat in the front row. Emily shrugged and followed him.
“You sure you don’t want to get a seat in front, Coop?” Stephen’s question seemed all too knowing.
Neal nodded. “I’ll be better off in the back. I’ve got a bitch of a headache and may need to duck out.”
Stephen didn’t say anything as they walked into the auditorium. Neal grabbed a seat in the back row and Stephen headed down to where Matthew and Emily were holding a space for him.
For the first time, Neal browsed through the lecture notes that had been distributed a few weeks earlier. Matthew was going to be thrilled - the Dutchman was there, and Govat, Avery Phillips and the boiler room take down, and ironically, the Gary Jennings case. He was surprised to see his own case notes attached to that one, and also relieved that the notes didn’t mention the alias he was given. There were a dozen other cases, including a few that Neal hadn’t worked on.
Listening to Peter talk about their work was going to be pure torture. Wondering whether Peter was still angry at him, if he still hated him. If he had any feelings left for him at all.
And then there was the joy of simply being in the same room with Peter, to breathe the same air was all he wished for.
Diana and Clinton entered first, from a side door. They both looked good. Jones had re-grown his goatee and if things were different, he would have taken great pleasure in teasing him about alternative universes and whether he was planning on assassinating someone in order to secure a promotion.
Peter came in with Michael Stokes and Neal didn’t know whether he wanted to run or rush the stage. Peter looked good, if a little tired, a little thin. When he looked out at the audience, Neal swiveled his seat away and ducked his head, hoping that Peter couldn’t see all the way into the back. It was a good thing that the auditorium was packed - practically standing room only.
The lights dimmed and Stokes gave the introduction. Neal had to smile - Peter was clearly uncomfortable with the other man’s effusive praise. But by the time he took the podium, Peter was in his element.
It didn’t surprise him at all that Peter had a natural talent for this. But he wasn’t saying anything that Neal didn’t already know. There was nothing in the material Peter presented that gave him the least clue about how he felt; whether Neal Caffrey was still someone that he no longer wished to know. Maybe that was his answer, and it hurt like hell.
After an hour or so, Peter let Clinton take over. Jones had a grand time with the George Oswald case, which was one where they all had gotten to do a little bit of undercover work. But as enjoyable as the presentation was, it left Neal unutterably depressed. This was a dream from days gone - when he was part of that, when he could work with the best and be counted as an equal.
Somewhere between the disappearance of the briefcase filled with Krugerrands and Alex’s part in the takedown, Neal felt a pair of eyes on him; Peter was staring at him. The need to escape was terrifying in its intensity. So was the desire to stay, to wait until the lights went up during the break and to walk down the aisle, to the podium. To see Peter’s face when he recognized him - to hear Peter’s apology.
Or to see Peter turn away and pretend he didn’t exist.
Clinton finished and the session broke for fifteen minutes. The Brats were still down in front, Matthew was peppering Peter with a million questions, Emily was waiting to talk to Diana and Stephen still in his seat, looking like a model student. Neal went into the hall and wondered if he could get away with ditching the rest of the lecture.
“Going somewhere, Cooper?” It was Stokes.
“No sir - just the mens room.”
“Thought you’d be sitting with your buddies? Any reason why you prefer the back of the room? That’s not like you.” There was no malice in the questions.
“Headache - bad one. Didn’t want to disturb the presentation if I had to take a breather.”
“You’ve been having a lot of headaches, stomach aches lately. Been to the infirmary?”
“It was just that one other time, Sir.”
“Ah - then it’s just Burke who makes you sick?”
Not exactly, but close. “Coincidence. I’ve been looking forward to this since the announcement.” Not quite a lie
“Okay - but I hope you’ll be able to stay ‘til the end. Peter’s one of the best.”
“I hope so too - it would be a shame to miss a moment.”
Neal made for the mens room and a stall. He waited until everyone else left and debated whether to risk going back to the auditorium. The need to see Peter, even if from a distance won out and he got back just as the lights were turned back down, this time grabbing a seat in the darkest corner.
The second half of Peter’s lecture was on the pitfalls of relying on confidential informants and the risks of poor management. Neal sat on his hands and wished he hadn’t stayed for the rest of the presentation. He was whipsawed and couldn’t figure out what Peter was feeling. For each example Peter gave when Neal Caffrey went off the reservation, he was also careful to point out that the end results were still positive.
Diana wrapped up with a presentation of the adoption scam case, highlighting how it had almost gone south when their CI was temporarily taken into custody by NYPD.
The lights went up for an extended Q&A session and Neal wanted to crawl under a rock. Emily asked Diana about the Jennings sting and “Good Cop - Bad Criminal” - and of course, Diana had no clue. Peter gave her a bland answer and breezed on to Stephen’s question.
“If Neal Caffrey were arrested again, would you offer him the same deal?”
“No.” The reply was short, to the point, and answered all the questions that Neal had about Peter’s own feelings towards him now.
That seemed to be the signal that the presentation was over and Neal bolted out of the auditorium.
He made it back to his dorm without encountering a field counselor, an administrator, or any ghosts from his past. He changed into his running clothes and headed out for the Yellow Brick Road. He didn’t want to have to think, to keep hearing Peter’s voice over and over again. To understand at last that he had destroyed the best thing in his life.
Eight - Week Twenty
The last day, the last exam, the last simulation completed. Thesis turned in, graded and handed back. An A+.
Nothing more to do but get ready for a graduation that he wouldn’t be attending.
“Cooper, Benjamin.” This time, there was no question. The administrator, whose name he never bothered to learn, called that name for what he knew was the last time.
“Yes.”
“With me, upstairs.”
Bancroft was waiting for him in the usual room. He held out his hand. “Congratulations, Caffrey.”
“Thank you.” He shook the other man’s hand. Caffrey. It’s over.
There was a familiar manila envelope on the table. Neal pulled out his wallet and extracted the identification for Benjamin Cooper. Shedding this persona was as simple as that. Neal picked up the envelope and took out the bits and pieces of Neal Caffrey: a passport, a driver’s license - a legitimate one, a few credit cards, a picture of him and Peter in tuxedos and another photograph – one of him with Moz that El had snapped and printed without either of them knowing. His cell phone, battery long since dead. There was one other item in the envelope, one he hadn’t put in there five months ago – a Social Security card. He looked up at Bancroft.
“You’re going to be a tax paying citizen, Mr. Caffrey - you’ll need one of those.”
Neal grimaced. He had long avoided having one for this identity, but if he was going to spend the rest of his life as Neal Caffrey, he didn’t have much of a choice.
“When do I start?”
“December first.”
To say he was disappointed was an understatement. “I have to wait that long?”
“I was able to get fallout money to cover your costs for December, but that was it.”
“Fallout money?” He’d never heard that term before.
“It’s what we call unused funds already budgeted. If I didn’t have that, you couldn't start until January first. But I’m sure you can find something to occupy your time until then.”
Plans began to spin in his head and he remembered the letter he had left for Peter, who had probably torn it to shreds or left it to rot on the sidewalk. But he had discussed those plans with Elizabeth and while it might be too much to expect forgiveness from that quarter, he wasn’t going to lose all hope.
Someone knocked on the door and Bancroft nodded at him to let whoever it was in.
It was the administrator, and she had what looked to be his duffle bag. “You’re all packed and ready to go, Mr. Caffrey.” She dropped the bag on the table and left.
That explained the less than friendly treatment she’d given him these past months.
“She’s the only one here who ever knew who you were and why you were here. If I ever need a deep cover asset, I’m going to tap you.”
Neal looked at the bag and thought about the Brats. He wasn’t going to have a chance to say goodbye - to them, to the rest of his classmates. Would they think he washed out at the last moment, or that he was kicked out for something nefarious? The thought of Em, of Matthew, of Stephen thinking badly of him was surprisingly distressing.
Bancroft read his mind. “They’ll be told that Benjamin Cooper was unable to attend the graduation ceremonies due to a sudden and possibly life-threatening illness. A bleeding ulcer, I think.”
“That will work.” Neal made a face. “I’ve had a few … episodes.”
“So I’ve heard.” Bancroft’s tone was deliberately bland.
Neal couldn't quite meet Bancroft’s eyes. “So, will Benjamin Cooper be listed as an FBI Special Agent?” It struck Neal that having a sort of “shadow” agent could benefit everyone.
Bancroft didn’t say anything. He just … smiled.
Neal hefted his bag - it was a lot heavier than when he arrived. He was sorry he couldn’t say goodbye, but maybe it was for the best.
Epilogue - October
Venice was a city of memories. Some of them bad, a lot of them good.
He arrived in Venice the day before the eleventh anniversary of his first face-to-face encounter with Special Agent Peter Burke. Just a day until he would learn if there was any future for him, for them.
Each moment was an agony of anticipation, and he had little expectation that Elizabeth and Peter would be here tomorrow, that they’d forgiven him. The bitter irony was that he knew that he wouldn’t have changed anything that happened. Maybe he shouldn’t have taken that last weekend with them and just disappeared for the year. But he knew that was a lie. Neal needed that terrible break. He needed to make certain that there would be no soft landing, no one to bail him out.
That there would be no one there to make it right when things went horribly wrong.
Neal wandered through Venice, trying to find his ghosts. No Kate – not even in that apartment she loved near the Bridge of Sighs. Moz wasn’t the type to leave ghosts. And Peter was a ghost he didn’t need to go to Venice to find; he has been haunting Neal for over a year.
Venice has only made it worse. Last night, in the deep quiet of his hotel room near the Accademia Bridge, he kept hearing Peter’s final words to him that last day. They replayed in an endless loop, taunting him. I don’t want to hear anything you have to tell me, you worthless criminal. And guess what, when you’re caught stealing or forging or conning, don’t come running to me. Don’t use my name, don’t call me, don’t ask for anyone’s help at the Bureau. You’re persona non grata, Neal. You get caught; you can rot in prison for all I care. And you will get caught - a leopard doesn’t change his spots.
Part of him wanted to shove his transcript from the Academy into Peter’s face, or the contract he just signed with the Bureau, and tell him that he was wrong, that this leopard did change his spots. But another part of him didn’t want to say anything out of spite, didn’t want Peter to know where he had been, what he did, until everything else was right between them. He wanted Peter to ask him, he wanted to see that dawning revelation. He wanted to see that moment of pride and approval.
The bells in the Campanile started to sound as Neal made his way to the apex of the Rialto. The bridge was typically heavy with foot traffic even as the shops were closing down for the early evening and he was constantly jostled from his stationary position. He watched the east bank – that was the direction that Peter had come from so many years ago and his heart stopped each time he saw a tall, dark-haired man.
But it wasn’t Peter he spotted first, it was Elizabeth. The crowd had thinned for a moment and there she was, beautiful and smiling, happiness radiating out of her like the sun’s corona. The crowd shifted again and there he was, climbing the stairs, coming towards him.
Neal could tell the moment that Peter saw him. He stopped, shock and wonderment in his eyes. Neal wanted to run to him, but he couldn’t move. And then, after more than a year, they were face to face, closer than they’d been since the morning Peter threw him out.
Neal hoped, he hoped that Peter was happy to see him – or at least not angry that he was here. He had his answer when a beloved hand reached out and touched him, the feel of those fingers against his face was an aching benediction and he turned his face into Peter’s palm.
Peter didn’t say a word, but the look on his face was heartbreaking.
Neal begged, “Forgive me. Please forgive me.” He reached out and touched Peter’s face, tracing the tears that streamed down his cheeks.
Peter finally spoke – the words echoing his own in harsh sobs. “Neal, I am sorry, I am so very sorry. Please forgive me.”
Neal leaned and brushed his lips against Peter’s ear, all he could say was. “Forgive me, too.”
When Peter wrapped his arms around him, all Neal could think was that it was all worth it. For this - this homecoming. It was worth it.
FIN
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Neal Caffrey (Eventual P/N, P/E/N), AD Bancroft
Spoilers: None, A/U from 2.09 forward
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Sequel/Fill-in to Between the Darkness and the Dawn
Word Count: ~8200
Summary: The FBI Agent Training program is twenty weeks long. The following story is a series of vignettes of Neal going through that program at Quantico. He’s not going to become an agent. His participation is the result of a deal he struck with AD Bancroft a few months before his work release ended, and he’s been promised a position as the lead analyst for the White Collar division in New York. He never told Peter where he was going, and in fact, he and Peter parted in anger. For the full story, please read Between the Darkness and the Dawn.
Author’s Notes: Written for
ginnyvos, who got me on the “Stump the Author” meme I ran last month. She wanted a story about Neal being awesome at Quantico, which sparked the memory of an idea I had for a sequel to Between the Darkness and the Dawn. I have structured this tale so it stands alone, but the experience will be richer if you’ve read that story. There were a few minor details from the original story that I’ve had to retcon - such as Neal going in with his real name and some of the timing - a few of the things that Neal reveals in his letter to Peter at the very end of Between the Darkness.The original story was written in September, 2010, before Forging Bonds aired and builds upon a mythology I created, where Neal and Kate and Moz were working their criminal magic through Europe. Neal’s first encounter with Agent Peter Burke is on the Rialto Bridge in Venice, where he spots Peter and does what comes quite naturally to him. He jumps off the Rialto (a fairly common thing) and lands on the roof of a passing water bus.
Beta credit:
rabidchild67, cheerleader credit: jrosemary. Feedback is naturally appreciated.“You are a sorry excuse for a man, and an even sorrier excuse for a friend. I never thought I’d say this but if I had the chance to make that choice again, right now, I wouldn’t take that meeting you asked for. I don’t care that I could still be chasing the Dutchman. All your talent, all your brilliance isn’t worth the hell you’ve put me through these past four years.”
Between The Darkness and The Dawn, Chapter II
One - Before Week One
Neal shouldered his duffle bag and headed to the main hall at Union Station. He had been told that someone would be meeting him there. He wasn’t expecting AD Bancroft.
“Sir.” It had been more than eight months since he accepted Bancroft’s proposal. Was he here to tell him that the deal was off?
Apparently not. The agent smiled and held out his hand; Neal took it. “Are you ready for this, Caffrey?”
“Would you believe me if I said I was?”
“Having second thoughts?”
Neal ducked his head. “My second thoughts have had second thoughts.” And then some.
“Good, then you’re ready.” Bancroft didn’t say anything more and Neal wasn’t inclined to indulge in idle conversation. The cold, gray morning in D.C. was an unpleasant reminder of the season. He shivered and hunched in his jacket.
“Cold?” The AD broke his silence.
“Yeah. A bit of a shock to the system.”
“I expect it would be after the Amalfi Coast, right?”
Neal wondered how Bancroft knew that he spent the last two weeks of his “vacation” there.
“I’ve been tracking your passport.”
He shook his head. Some things were never going to change. “Trust but verify?”
“I came of age with the Bureau during the Reagan administration.”
They pulled out of the Union Station parking lot. Neal never spent a lot of time in D.C. and he supposed that they were heading towards Quantico. He was surprised when Bancroft passed the southbound exits for Virginia and drove them into the center of Washington.
All the other man said was, “We have some details to take care of first.” And those details apparently needed to be taken care of at FBI headquarters.
It may have been a Sunday, but the Hoover Building was far from deserted. They passed through security and he trailed Bancroft like a puppy on a leash. It was an odd feeling – Neal Caffrey wasn’t a man to be cowed by anyone or anything, but this was unsettling.
Bancroft led him to a small, windowless room. “Take a seat, Caffrey. I’ll be back in a moment.”
That moment was more like ten minutes, but in the interval, a very young probationary agent came with a cup of coffee. Neal smiled and tried to make conversation. “They make you come in on the weekends to serve coffee?”
The man glared at him and left.
Caffrey – you are so out of practice. He took a sip of the coffee, and it was hard to believe, but it was worse than the sludge in the New York office. Bancroft came back in and must have seen the exchange.
“Don’t mind Arthur. He is a little annoyed at the assignment today.”
“I thought the life of a probie was filled with getting coffee and running errands.”
Bancroft shrugged. “Yep, and sometimes their bosses ask them to come in on Sundays when they have tickets to a matinee at the Kennedy Center to do just that. But that’s nothing you’re going to have to be concerned about.”
The knot of worry that had been tightening since he saw Bancroft loosened. “Why am I here, then?”
“I like that about you, Caffrey. You know when to stop playing the social engineer and be direct.”
Neal grimaced. “Would it be revealing too much if I said this ...” he gestured around with his coffee cup, “is unnerving me?”
Bancroft smiled. “It’s nice to know that I can put the great Neal Caffrey off his game.” The man took a sip of his own coffee and made a face. “That boy had better learn how to make a decent cup of coffee, or his probie years are going to be very long and very uncomfortable.”
Neal lifted his cup, took another sip and pushed it as far away from himself as possible. “I do have to say that this is possibly the worst cup of coffee I’ve ever had.”
“Well, it’s better than what I make myself.” Bancroft slid a manila envelope across the table to him. “Open it.”
Neal did, pulling out a comprehensive set of identification for Benjamin Cooper. He blinked and looked up at Bancroft. “Sir – what is this for?”
“I thought you’d realize that you couldn’t go into the Academy as ‘Neal Caffrey’. You’re probably on the syllabus in several classes.”
Neal blinked and tried to squelch the feeling of pleasure at the knowledge that he was still considered one of the world’s best ... criminals. “I’m part of the course work?”
Bancroft nodded. “And I believe that your mug shot may be a part of the materials. It could get embarrassing.” Bancroft gave him a look. “Is there a problem with using an alias?”
Neal rubbed the back of his neck. “I had hoped not to have to go in with a lie.” Using an alias sort of defeated that.
“You don’t have a choice.” Bancroft took a sip of his coffee and looked like he’d regret it for days. “Unless you don’t want to go?”
Neal looked at the identification, there was a New York State driver’s license and a social security card, some old “family” photos, and a few credit cards to round out the package.
“Those aren’t forgeries, you know.”
He nodded. “I appreciate the level of trust, Sir.” He pulled out his wallet and extracted his own ID and tossed it into the now-empty manila envelope.
“Your cell phone and passport, Neal.” Bancroft actually smirked at him.
Neal shook his head, laughing as he added the last items to the envelope and resealed it. “Why Benjamin Cooper? I really don’t have a well-developed mythology for him.”
“Why do you think?”
Neal scrubbed his eyes. He shouldn’t be off his game so badly that he had to struggle to figure this out. “Okay - Cooper was an FBI set up. You know it’s a clean ID and the background data is already in place.” He remembered that the New York team had even inserted his picture into his high school and college yearbooks and shipped them back to those institutions. His job history was equally verifiable. But everything else about Cooper was up in the air.
“Good – there’s enough for you to work with and not so much that you’ll tie yourself in knots trying to remember all the details.”
Neal wasn’t sure that he shouldn’t be insulted by the insinuation that he couldn’t manage a deep cover identity. It was just that he didn’t want to have to. “Understood.”
“You ready to go?” Bancroft didn’t wait for an answer and he called the probie. “Arthur’s going to drive you to Quantico.”
The probie knocked and came in. He glared at Neal again.
They both stood up and Bancroft held out his hand. “Good luck, Cooper.”
Neal’s stomach roiled. “Thank you, Sir.”
Two - Week One
The first day of weapons training was the closest he came to bailing so far. They were going to work with the Glock 22 semi automatic - the standard issue firearm for all FBI agents.
Emily, the undisputed leader of the Army Brats chuckled and called it a toy, Matthew and Stephen concurred. The trio of Afghan and Iraqi War veterans seemed determined to include him in their fellowship. Neal had quietly tried to discourage them, but the three clung to him like limpets. He couldn’t quite understand why, he had nothing in common with the former soldiers. But they wanted to embrace him and he was tired of being an outsider. Peter had ruined that for him.
“Ever fire one of those, Coop?” Matthew was always the first one to ask him about his background. Emily would follow up with more probing questions when he didn’t answer. Stephen, his roommate, thankfully seemed to respect his not-so-subtle need for privacy.
He wanted to give them his usual demurrer, “I’m not really a gun guy” but he couldn’t. They were getting ready for their first target practice - the initial assessment of their weapons proficiency. He thought about faking it, but quickly discarded the idea. Ironically, a moderate display of skill would mean less time on the range.
“Coop?” Matthew asked again.
“Yeah – I’ve used a Glock.” And probably more types of handguns and rifles before I was twenty-one than you’ll see in your lifetime.
The instructor commanded their attention and gave the regulation spiel about gun safeyy, demonstrating the weapon’s key features, how to load, unload and field strip the model. When he finished the demo, they all donned their headgear and followed the instructor onto the range. There were a surprising number of trainees who hadn’t handled a gun before, and needed special instruction. In a rather disgusted tone, Emily called them accountants. Their Field Counselor overheard and gave them the stink eye.
Neal’s turn on the range came all too soon. Before firing he was asked to field-strip the weapon, something he was still able to do with his eyes closed. The instructor nodded and handed him a box of ammunition. He loaded the clip and chambered a round.
“Five strings, two rounds each. Aim for the torso. De-cock between strings.”
Neal tried to forget the last time he did this, at the gun range in Federal Plaza. Hughes had forced the issue and he needed to demonstrate his proficiency. Peter hadn’t been happy with that. Peter hadn’t been happy about a lot of things.
“Mr. Cooper, sometime today, please?”
Neal shook his head, trying to dispel the ghosts. The target had been set at a laughably close ten yards. He fired as instructed, and while he could have nailed the paper target in the heart with all ten shots, that would have called unwanted attention to his marksmanship. The target was reeled in and the instructor was suitably impressed. “Good job, Cooper. Nine out of ten shots placed.”
The Brats gave him the group high five. Nine out of ten was good, maybe too good. He would have been better with placing eight or even seven. He watched his friends take their turns. Emily, who’d been a tactical specialist for three tours in Iraq and a team leader in Afghanistan, turned in a perfect score, as did Matthew. His roommate, Stephen, missed two and they gave him a bit of a ribbing for that.
Neal wanted to head back to quarters, to shower, to wash off the stink of gunpowder, but there was no time. There never was.
Heading back to the main building, Matthew asked, “Where did you learn to shoot, Coop? That was pretty impressive for a civilian.”
Neal shrugged.
“Ah, Coop’s being all mysterious.” That was from Emily, who was determined to get his life history. “Tell us, was your daddy a secret agent who gave you your first handgun when you were just a baby?”
Neal pretended to be shocked. “Who told you?” He smiled though, making sure that everyone got the joke. The thing was, Emily was hitting a little too close to the truth.
“Come on, Coop. What gives?” Matthew kept up the pressure.
“Didn’t you hear Emily? My daddy gave me my first handgun when I was five. A little poodle shooter. Practically grew up on a target range.” He let just the faintest hint of a regional accent color his voice.
Matthew and Stephen shook their heads and gave up. Emily looked at him. “You know, no one likes a wiseass.”
“And for some strange reason, you’re reminding me of my fourth grade math teacher. Not a good look for you.”
The guys hooted and Emily glared, then gave him a twisted smile. “Good one, Coop. I’m going to figure you out before this is all over.”
Neal gave her a small, tight smile. “There’s nothing to figure out – what you see is what you get.”
“And that, Benjamin Cooper, is the biggest bucket of horseshit I’ve heard from you yet.”
Three - Week Four
“Hey, Coop - wanna go for a run?” They started calling him “Coop” the first day out and Neal supposed it was better than “Ben” or God-forbid, “Benji.” The Brats were kitted out for a cross-country run on the Academy’s famed Yellow Brick Road.
He shrugged. A run sounded good; something to work off the tension. “Give me five, I need to change.”
He joined them in front of the dormitory building. It was cold, but not so bitter that it would be impossible to complete. Winter released its grip early in northern Virginia.
Neal normally didn’t like to run with anyone else, but the Academy actively encouraged teamwork and he already had gotten one very subtle dressing down for going it alone.
The Brats chatted amongst themselves and Neal gave their conversation half an ear. They were talking about Fallujah or Baghdad or Kandahar or someplace dry and rocky and full of people trying to kill them. He really didn’t have anything to add to that discussion.
The Yellow Brick Road was difficult, even for him. The patches of snow and ice that clogged the narrow track made running the course even more of a hazard. This was one of the reasons why he agreed to the run - left alone too long, he began to brood. To think about all he left behind, and how badly he miscalculated the cost of his departure. Running helped, to a point - when he hit the zone, letting his body work without conscious effort, memories kicked in. But today, the ground was slick and he needed to concentrate on keeping his footing.
They successfully made it through all of the bear traps, obstacles and walls climbs. By the time they finished the fourth mile and arrived at the infamous twelve-foot high cargo net, Neal wanted to just drop. But the Brats were all gung-ho - and why wouldn’t they be? No one was shooting at them these days.
“Wanna go first, Coop?”
Neal sighed and at this moment so wished he never agreed to Bancroft’s offer. He launched himself at the unstable net and began to climb. He’d done this before without a problem, but today wasn’t going to be a good one for him. He made it halfway up and his left foot slipped on the rope - it was covered in a layer of ice and his right hand lost its grip. He ended up in an ignominious pile in the frozen sand.
“Come on, you can do it.” The trio cheered him on. “Come on, come on, Cooper!”
Neal, being Neal, wasn’t about to let something as simple as a frozen cargo net defeat him. He got up, brushed himself off and rubbed his feet in the sand to give him traction on the ice. With a lot of embarrassment and a little help, he made it up and over on his third attempt. The other three had no problems getting over and Neal felt old and tired. The worst was yet to come - the combat crawl through the frozen mud, under a net of barbed wire.
Neal once again reminded himself that he was doing this for a reason. That he needed to find a way to stand on his own, to be … yeah - the man, not the con.
He crawled on his belly and tried to keep his mind focused on the space in front of him, but he kept hearing Peter’s voice, “You are a piece of work, Caffrey. I thought I knew you. I thought you were better than this. But I was wrong. You’re still the same thoughtless, immature, irresponsible child that lied and cheated and stole until he was sent to prison.” He wanted to just stop, to sink into the mud, to disappear forever.
“Coop - just a few more feet, you can do it! Just a few more feet!” Emily’s cheer broke through the funk and he pulled himself along, inch by inch until first his head, then his shoulders cleared the barbed wire and finally, he was free. Covered head to toe in mud, but he was free.
Neal stood up and surveyed the terrain. It was another five miles back to the dorms, and not all of it was down hill. He’d make it. He’d have to. There was no one here that would bail him out of trouble.
Matthew, who’d been in the same unit as Emily in Iraq, handed him a bottle of water. “You okay, Cooper? You usually do this like you were born to it.”
Neal shrugged. “Off day - I’ll do better tomorrow.” He handed the water back to Matthew with a thank you.
Stephen made a comment about his fine manners and Neal shook his head. “It doesn’t cost anything to be polite.”
The Brats had a good laugh, Matthew clapped him on the back and they started on the run back. With each step through the mud and debris, Neal missed New York even more. What he wouldn’t give for a taxi, some hard pavement and a crowd of surly pedestrians.
What he wouldn’t give for a smile from Peter.
Four - Week Eight
“Cooper, Benjamin?”
Neal turned around to see who was calling. It was an administrator, someone he didn’t recognize. “Yes?”
“You’re wanted upstairs, follow me.” The woman’s tone was chilling.
A sick, scary feeling unfurled like some rank, night-blooming flower in the pit of his stomach.
“Umm – I’m going to be late for lectures.” Stupid – it was the only thing he could think of saying.
“Your instructor has been notified. This way.” She steered him to a quiet, carpeted hallway and opened a door. Bancroft was waiting.
“Sir?”
The AD gestured with his head and the administrator closed the door behind her.
“Is everything all right?” Neal couldn’t begin to imagine why he was here. “Is it Peter – Agent Burke, is he all right?”
“Sit, Cooper. Relax – everything’s fine.” Bancroft himself took a seat and Neal followed suit. “I’m just here to see how you’re doing. Checking up on the progress of my little ‘project,’ so to speak.”
The wave of relief was almost nauseating.
“And how are you doing?”
Neal swallowed, his mouth was bone dry. “I’m fine – doing just fine.”
Bancroft opened a file. “Based on the first quarter reports, I’d say that you’re doing more than just fine. Your instructors are impressed – top scores in all of your academics. Your physical training is going well, though the hand-to-hand coach has noted that you prefer to try and talk your way out of situations.”
Neal grinned. “I’m not a fan of physical violence.”
“Hmmm.” The AD looked at him with narrowed eyes. “You’re marksmanship training is going exceptionally well, too. You doing okay with that?”
“As well as can be expected.” Neal shrugged.
“I am surprised that you’re not turning in perfect scores”
“Figured that it would be less comment-worthy if I didn’t.” He shrugged again.
“I can accept that.” Bancroft looked at the file again. “Your field counselor notes that you’ve become friends with a group of trainees who are ex-military. Not the companions I’d have expected you to choose.”
“I’m not running a con on them, if that’s what you’re implying.” Neal was getting annoyed. “One is my roommate; the other two are mutual friends. They seem to enjoy my company.”
Bancroft held up a hand, a calming gesture. “No need to get defensive. I’m just trying to make sure there aren’t any problems.”
Neal apologized and was anxious to get back to his schedule. “Is that all, Sir?” His tone was stiff, and he realized it bordered on the disrespectful.
“I’m not the enemy, Neal.”
Hearing his own name – or at least the one he’d used for all his adult life - for the first time in months, calmed him. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting you, this. I feel like I’ve been called to the principal’s office and I have no idea what I’ve done wrong.”
“This is an interesting facet of your character – I think I like it.” Bancroft chuckled. “You can go, get back to your lectures.”
Neal got up. “Thank you.” He turned to leave, and then turned back. “One question, Sir?”
“Yes?”
“How is everyone?” Neal hoped he didn’t sound too pitiful, too needy.
“Everyone?”
“In New York – the White Collar division. Is everyone okay?”
“Ah. Everyone’s fine. Or so Hughes tells me. I don’t get up there that often. But don’t you keep in touch?”
“No. I thought it best to keep them out of the loop on this. They think I’m in an ashram in India”
Bancroft laughed at that. “Probably a wise choice. I’d love to be a fly on the wall when they do find out where you’ve been. But everyone’s fine. Next time I stop by, I’ll see if I can scrape up some gossip for you. It’s good that you miss them.”
That’s putting it mildly “Thank you, Sir. And thank you for checking in on me.”
“Keep up the good work, Cooper. I’ll see you in a month or so.”
“Looking forward to it.”
“Somehow, I believe that.”
Five - Week Ten
Neal was on his bunk, studying for the mid-term in Warrant Law. Benjamin Cooper may have been a Harvard Law School grad, but Neal Caffrey had more real life experience with the Fourth Amendment than anyone in his class, probably even more than his instructors.
It had taken about two weeks before he realized that the four years he spent with Peter and the team had given him the same training he was getting here. He could provide a moment by moment syllabus. But he still needed to pay attention and turn in stellar academics - that was part of his agreement with Bancroft. No coasting.
And he was keeping his promise. He was at the top of all his classes - so much so that he was in danger of receiving honors for both academics and firearms proficiency. That would be embarrassing, since he wasn’t going to be attending the graduation ceremonies.
“Coop? Can I ask you something?”
He looked up from his notes. “Sure.” Stephen was a surprisingly decent roommate. Maybe it was from all the years he’d been deployed in Iraq, living in close quarters with his fellow soldiers. He was almost obsessively neat, he didn’t feel the need to talk, didn’t pry, and played a decent game of chess. Not as good as Moz, but there were few people, alive or dead, who were.
“Are you gay?”
“What?” Of all the questions he had been expecting - this was the last thing he expected.
“Not that it’s an issue or anything. Just curious.”
Neal sat up and looked at his roommate. “Why do you ask?”
Stephen rubbed the back of his neck and gave him a rueful look. “You talk in your sleep sometimes.”
“I do?” That wasn’t good news.
“Yeah – not a lot, but you’re always calling out for someone named Peter. Sometimes it’s - well, sexy, sometimes you sound like you’re crying or you’re angry. Is he your partner?”
Neal was appalled and had no idea how to answer.
Stephen kept talking though. “Look – you’re like the most private person I’ve ever met. You’ve managed to hold Em off for nearly three months, and that girl should have been an interrogator for the CIA. I swear, she could get a stone to talk and you just slide away. You don’t have to tell me. And if you do – I won’t tell anyone.”
“Being an enigma is my natural state.” He tried for a smile.
Stephen let out a bark of laughter. “Good one, Coop. I like that – you should have it printed on a t-shirt.” He paused and sobered up. “But seriously – I’m not prying for the sake of, well, prying.”
“Then why are you asking?”
“Well – there’s a reason why I left the military.” When Neal didn’t say anything, Stephen continued. “DADT may have been repealed, but it’s still not easy being gay in the Service. “
“And you’re telling me this because?” Neal had a sinking feeling about where this was going.
Stephen shrugged. “I was just wondering if, well ... if you were in a relationship. If ‘Peter’ was your partner. And if he wasn’t or it’s over, whether you’d consider...”
Neal didn’t say anything for a moment, considering his words very carefully. “Stephen, I’m flattered…”
“But you’re not interested.” The other man flopped back onto his bunk, picked up his pillow and tried to smother himself. “Shit. I have so screwed this up.”
“No, no. You haven’t screwed anything up. It’s just - complicated. Peter and I didn’t part on the best of terms - but I have hopes of reconciliation.”
“You still love him?” Stephen rolled over and looked at him.
“Yeah. Very much. You have no idea how much.” Neal swallowed hard, fighting the pain. “He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“What went wrong?”
Neal shook his head. “I really can’t talk about it. Sorry.”
Stephen laughed, a short, bitter sound. “Typical Cooper - never wants to talk about himself.”
Neal didn’t respond to the baiting and pretended to study. The minutes ticked by in aching silence.
“Coop?”
Neal sighed. “What, Stephen?”
“We okay?”
“Yeah, we’re fine.” He looked at his roommate. “Believe me - I wish I could take you up on your offer, but …”
“Yeah - yeah. I hope you and Peter can resolve your problems. I hope someday he learns how much you love him.”
So do I.
Six - Week Fifteen
Despite Bancroft’s assertions, “Neal Caffrey” only appeared on the syllabus a few short weeks before the end of the training program.
“To Catch a Thief” was the rather colorful title of the document sent to their tablets when they arrived for the day’s lecture. The instructor had an announcement to go along with it. “Normally, the Caffrey case would be a footnote in your investigative techniques class --”
Neal was just a little outraged to be relegated to a “footnote.” After all, George Oswald had given his career a full week. Then his blood went cold.
“But we’re going to have a very special guest lecturer. You may have seen the posting for Bill Carmody and his talk on hostage negotiation. Unfortunately, Agent Carmody had a severe heart attack several weeks ago. While he’s making good progress on his recovery, we’ve arranged for a substitute lecturer. Peter Burke, the senior case agent in the New York White Collar Crime Division will be presenting on the effective use of criminal and confidential informants.”
Neal couldn’t help himself. He knew he should keep his mouth shut, but the old impulse control issues reared their ugly head. He raised his hand and didn’t wait for the instructor to call on him. “So what does this …” he flicked back and forth through the file, “Neal Caffrey have to do with Peter Burke?”
That was the cue for the lecturer to give the FBI’s perspective on his own criminal career and it was a rather interesting experience. Neal couldn’t ever remember having his ego pumped and deflated quite so often in such a short span of time. He was initially described as a small time grifter who caught the attention of the FBI with his forgeries of the Atlantic Partners bonds - and if not for the dogged attentions of Agent Peter Burke, he would have remained off of the FBI’s radar for years. Then came the rather unflattering description of his depredations across Europe, his suspected cons and schemes. There were at least a half-dozen crimes that the FBI had attributed to Neal Caffrey or his aliases that he had no involvement in and no way to correct. And of course, his original apprehension, his escape and recapture was not presented in a very favorable light to him. Peter, however, came off as the champion of justice.
So he sat there, sweating, hands clutching the desk, ignoring the odd looks from the Brats.
The overview ended and the instructor advised them to study the materials and come up with a lot of good questions for Agent Burke. But the horror wasn’t quite over. One of the Field Counselors, Michael Stokes took the podium and started talking about “Big Bad Peter Burke.” It seemed that Stokes had not only been an Academy classmate, they had shared part of their probie years under Kramer. Stokes made it seem like Peter was an invincible, crime-fighting demi-god, he could bounce bullets off his chest like Superman, and secure convictions with the powers of his mind alone. Stokes didn’t mention Peter’s wicked sense of humor, his biting tongue or his beautiful eyes.
Neal ached. He sat there and pretended that all of this was academic, but the pain was devastating. He missed Peter, not just the physical connection - that had been all too brief. He missed their closeness, that sharp mind striking sparks off his, the camaraderie, the easy friendship. The impossible friendship.
“You okay?” Stephen leaned over and gave him a concerned look.
“Dunno - think I ate something. Not good.” Neal swallowed, and he wasn’t pretending that he was trying not to retch.
“Something wrong, Cooper?” Stokes noticed the interaction and stopped talking about Peter.
“He’s sick, Agent Stokes.” Stephen answered for him.
Neal held up a hand - to signal that he was okay, but Stephen practically picked him up and hauled him out of the classroom. “Wouldn’t be too good if you barfed in front of everyone. On top of everyone.”
Neal nodded and let Stephen steer him to the mens room. He didn’t vomit but leaned over the sink and scrubbed his face with cold water. Stephen stood by, watching intently.
“Do you want to go to the Infirmary?”
He dried off. “No thanks - I’m okay. I think.” No - I’m not, but it’s nothing that can be fixed with pills or a bland diet. He tossed the paper towel away. “Come on, let’s get back to class.”
The lecture, however, was over. Matthew and Emily met them outside the classroom. Emily handed him his tablet. “This feels way too high school-ish, if you ask me. Did you go see the nurse?”
Before Neal could say anything, Stephen stepped in. “Give it a rest, Em.”
Neal answered. “It’s okay - must have been something I ate. I’m fine now.”
The Brats looked at him, but there was nothing else to say. At least about this.
Neal tried to break the tension. “So what do you think about the new lecturer?”
Matthew launched into an encomium that was worthy of Shakespeare.
“When did you fall in love with Peter Burke?” Neal forced himself to ask.
“I’m writing my thesis on him - the Spanish Victory Bond forgery case. The first time he used Neal Caffrey as a CI.”
And another wave of nausea struck. “Huh?”
Emily interrupted. “Matthew has a way of becoming obsessed. You’ll have to ignore him unless you want to spend the next five weeks hearing about his hero.”
Matthew turned beet-red. “Come on, Em. You heard Stokes - the guy’s a legend, and he’s coming here.”
“You’d think he was J. Edgar himself the way Matthew goes on about Burke.” Emily quipped.
Neal considered his options, he’d already exposed too much of himself. He went for misdirection. “Well, hopefully this Peter Burke doesn’t like to wear dresses.” The Brats - even Matthew - chuckled. Neal hoped that some day, he and Peter would be able to laugh about this too.
They split up - Em and Stephen headed for the range, Matthew had spotted Agent Stokes and apparently wanted to pump him for more information about Peter, and Neal was going to go back to his room and do some work on his own thesis.
“Cooper, Benjamin.” It was that damn administrator calling him name.
Neal closed his eyes. He so didn’t want to have to see Bancroft right now. But like the good dog he seemed to be evolving into, Neal followed her upstairs.
Seven - Week Eighteen
“Come on, Coop - don’t you want to get a good seat?” Matthew was still doing his best imitation of an Irish Setter puppy. To his delight, he had been asked to pick Peter up at Union Station and last night, it was all about Burke and the team that came down from New York. Diana and Clinton were giving part of the lecture, apparently.
The last thing he wanted was to be down in front. He needed to hide or ditch the lecture altogether.
“Leave him alone, Matthew. Not everyone shares your enthusiasms.” Stephen stepped in. Neal gave him a puzzled look. His relationship with Stephen remained on an even keel for the most part. Up until a few weeks ago, there was no awkwardness between them, but suddenly he’d catch Stephen giving him strange, searching looks. He had the feeling that his roommate knew just who he was. Neal was waiting for him to say something. But he never did.
Matthew shook his head and sped off to claim a seat in the front row. Emily shrugged and followed him.
“You sure you don’t want to get a seat in front, Coop?” Stephen’s question seemed all too knowing.
Neal nodded. “I’ll be better off in the back. I’ve got a bitch of a headache and may need to duck out.”
Stephen didn’t say anything as they walked into the auditorium. Neal grabbed a seat in the back row and Stephen headed down to where Matthew and Emily were holding a space for him.
For the first time, Neal browsed through the lecture notes that had been distributed a few weeks earlier. Matthew was going to be thrilled - the Dutchman was there, and Govat, Avery Phillips and the boiler room take down, and ironically, the Gary Jennings case. He was surprised to see his own case notes attached to that one, and also relieved that the notes didn’t mention the alias he was given. There were a dozen other cases, including a few that Neal hadn’t worked on.
Listening to Peter talk about their work was going to be pure torture. Wondering whether Peter was still angry at him, if he still hated him. If he had any feelings left for him at all.
And then there was the joy of simply being in the same room with Peter, to breathe the same air was all he wished for.
Diana and Clinton entered first, from a side door. They both looked good. Jones had re-grown his goatee and if things were different, he would have taken great pleasure in teasing him about alternative universes and whether he was planning on assassinating someone in order to secure a promotion.
Peter came in with Michael Stokes and Neal didn’t know whether he wanted to run or rush the stage. Peter looked good, if a little tired, a little thin. When he looked out at the audience, Neal swiveled his seat away and ducked his head, hoping that Peter couldn’t see all the way into the back. It was a good thing that the auditorium was packed - practically standing room only.
The lights dimmed and Stokes gave the introduction. Neal had to smile - Peter was clearly uncomfortable with the other man’s effusive praise. But by the time he took the podium, Peter was in his element.
It didn’t surprise him at all that Peter had a natural talent for this. But he wasn’t saying anything that Neal didn’t already know. There was nothing in the material Peter presented that gave him the least clue about how he felt; whether Neal Caffrey was still someone that he no longer wished to know. Maybe that was his answer, and it hurt like hell.
After an hour or so, Peter let Clinton take over. Jones had a grand time with the George Oswald case, which was one where they all had gotten to do a little bit of undercover work. But as enjoyable as the presentation was, it left Neal unutterably depressed. This was a dream from days gone - when he was part of that, when he could work with the best and be counted as an equal.
Somewhere between the disappearance of the briefcase filled with Krugerrands and Alex’s part in the takedown, Neal felt a pair of eyes on him; Peter was staring at him. The need to escape was terrifying in its intensity. So was the desire to stay, to wait until the lights went up during the break and to walk down the aisle, to the podium. To see Peter’s face when he recognized him - to hear Peter’s apology.
Or to see Peter turn away and pretend he didn’t exist.
Clinton finished and the session broke for fifteen minutes. The Brats were still down in front, Matthew was peppering Peter with a million questions, Emily was waiting to talk to Diana and Stephen still in his seat, looking like a model student. Neal went into the hall and wondered if he could get away with ditching the rest of the lecture.
“Going somewhere, Cooper?” It was Stokes.
“No sir - just the mens room.”
“Thought you’d be sitting with your buddies? Any reason why you prefer the back of the room? That’s not like you.” There was no malice in the questions.
“Headache - bad one. Didn’t want to disturb the presentation if I had to take a breather.”
“You’ve been having a lot of headaches, stomach aches lately. Been to the infirmary?”
“It was just that one other time, Sir.”
“Ah - then it’s just Burke who makes you sick?”
Not exactly, but close. “Coincidence. I’ve been looking forward to this since the announcement.” Not quite a lie
“Okay - but I hope you’ll be able to stay ‘til the end. Peter’s one of the best.”
“I hope so too - it would be a shame to miss a moment.”
Neal made for the mens room and a stall. He waited until everyone else left and debated whether to risk going back to the auditorium. The need to see Peter, even if from a distance won out and he got back just as the lights were turned back down, this time grabbing a seat in the darkest corner.
The second half of Peter’s lecture was on the pitfalls of relying on confidential informants and the risks of poor management. Neal sat on his hands and wished he hadn’t stayed for the rest of the presentation. He was whipsawed and couldn’t figure out what Peter was feeling. For each example Peter gave when Neal Caffrey went off the reservation, he was also careful to point out that the end results were still positive.
Diana wrapped up with a presentation of the adoption scam case, highlighting how it had almost gone south when their CI was temporarily taken into custody by NYPD.
The lights went up for an extended Q&A session and Neal wanted to crawl under a rock. Emily asked Diana about the Jennings sting and “Good Cop - Bad Criminal” - and of course, Diana had no clue. Peter gave her a bland answer and breezed on to Stephen’s question.
“If Neal Caffrey were arrested again, would you offer him the same deal?”
“No.” The reply was short, to the point, and answered all the questions that Neal had about Peter’s own feelings towards him now.
That seemed to be the signal that the presentation was over and Neal bolted out of the auditorium.
He made it back to his dorm without encountering a field counselor, an administrator, or any ghosts from his past. He changed into his running clothes and headed out for the Yellow Brick Road. He didn’t want to have to think, to keep hearing Peter’s voice over and over again. To understand at last that he had destroyed the best thing in his life.
Eight - Week Twenty
The last day, the last exam, the last simulation completed. Thesis turned in, graded and handed back. An A+.
Nothing more to do but get ready for a graduation that he wouldn’t be attending.
“Cooper, Benjamin.” This time, there was no question. The administrator, whose name he never bothered to learn, called that name for what he knew was the last time.
“Yes.”
“With me, upstairs.”
Bancroft was waiting for him in the usual room. He held out his hand. “Congratulations, Caffrey.”
“Thank you.” He shook the other man’s hand. Caffrey. It’s over.
There was a familiar manila envelope on the table. Neal pulled out his wallet and extracted the identification for Benjamin Cooper. Shedding this persona was as simple as that. Neal picked up the envelope and took out the bits and pieces of Neal Caffrey: a passport, a driver’s license - a legitimate one, a few credit cards, a picture of him and Peter in tuxedos and another photograph – one of him with Moz that El had snapped and printed without either of them knowing. His cell phone, battery long since dead. There was one other item in the envelope, one he hadn’t put in there five months ago – a Social Security card. He looked up at Bancroft.
“You’re going to be a tax paying citizen, Mr. Caffrey - you’ll need one of those.”
Neal grimaced. He had long avoided having one for this identity, but if he was going to spend the rest of his life as Neal Caffrey, he didn’t have much of a choice.
“When do I start?”
“December first.”
To say he was disappointed was an understatement. “I have to wait that long?”
“I was able to get fallout money to cover your costs for December, but that was it.”
“Fallout money?” He’d never heard that term before.
“It’s what we call unused funds already budgeted. If I didn’t have that, you couldn't start until January first. But I’m sure you can find something to occupy your time until then.”
Plans began to spin in his head and he remembered the letter he had left for Peter, who had probably torn it to shreds or left it to rot on the sidewalk. But he had discussed those plans with Elizabeth and while it might be too much to expect forgiveness from that quarter, he wasn’t going to lose all hope.
Someone knocked on the door and Bancroft nodded at him to let whoever it was in.
It was the administrator, and she had what looked to be his duffle bag. “You’re all packed and ready to go, Mr. Caffrey.” She dropped the bag on the table and left.
That explained the less than friendly treatment she’d given him these past months.
“She’s the only one here who ever knew who you were and why you were here. If I ever need a deep cover asset, I’m going to tap you.”
Neal looked at the bag and thought about the Brats. He wasn’t going to have a chance to say goodbye - to them, to the rest of his classmates. Would they think he washed out at the last moment, or that he was kicked out for something nefarious? The thought of Em, of Matthew, of Stephen thinking badly of him was surprisingly distressing.
Bancroft read his mind. “They’ll be told that Benjamin Cooper was unable to attend the graduation ceremonies due to a sudden and possibly life-threatening illness. A bleeding ulcer, I think.”
“That will work.” Neal made a face. “I’ve had a few … episodes.”
“So I’ve heard.” Bancroft’s tone was deliberately bland.
Neal couldn't quite meet Bancroft’s eyes. “So, will Benjamin Cooper be listed as an FBI Special Agent?” It struck Neal that having a sort of “shadow” agent could benefit everyone.
Bancroft didn’t say anything. He just … smiled.
Neal hefted his bag - it was a lot heavier than when he arrived. He was sorry he couldn’t say goodbye, but maybe it was for the best.
Epilogue - October
Venice was a city of memories. Some of them bad, a lot of them good.
He arrived in Venice the day before the eleventh anniversary of his first face-to-face encounter with Special Agent Peter Burke. Just a day until he would learn if there was any future for him, for them.
Each moment was an agony of anticipation, and he had little expectation that Elizabeth and Peter would be here tomorrow, that they’d forgiven him. The bitter irony was that he knew that he wouldn’t have changed anything that happened. Maybe he shouldn’t have taken that last weekend with them and just disappeared for the year. But he knew that was a lie. Neal needed that terrible break. He needed to make certain that there would be no soft landing, no one to bail him out.
That there would be no one there to make it right when things went horribly wrong.
Neal wandered through Venice, trying to find his ghosts. No Kate – not even in that apartment she loved near the Bridge of Sighs. Moz wasn’t the type to leave ghosts. And Peter was a ghost he didn’t need to go to Venice to find; he has been haunting Neal for over a year.
Venice has only made it worse. Last night, in the deep quiet of his hotel room near the Accademia Bridge, he kept hearing Peter’s final words to him that last day. They replayed in an endless loop, taunting him. I don’t want to hear anything you have to tell me, you worthless criminal. And guess what, when you’re caught stealing or forging or conning, don’t come running to me. Don’t use my name, don’t call me, don’t ask for anyone’s help at the Bureau. You’re persona non grata, Neal. You get caught; you can rot in prison for all I care. And you will get caught - a leopard doesn’t change his spots.
Part of him wanted to shove his transcript from the Academy into Peter’s face, or the contract he just signed with the Bureau, and tell him that he was wrong, that this leopard did change his spots. But another part of him didn’t want to say anything out of spite, didn’t want Peter to know where he had been, what he did, until everything else was right between them. He wanted Peter to ask him, he wanted to see that dawning revelation. He wanted to see that moment of pride and approval.
The bells in the Campanile started to sound as Neal made his way to the apex of the Rialto. The bridge was typically heavy with foot traffic even as the shops were closing down for the early evening and he was constantly jostled from his stationary position. He watched the east bank – that was the direction that Peter had come from so many years ago and his heart stopped each time he saw a tall, dark-haired man.
But it wasn’t Peter he spotted first, it was Elizabeth. The crowd had thinned for a moment and there she was, beautiful and smiling, happiness radiating out of her like the sun’s corona. The crowd shifted again and there he was, climbing the stairs, coming towards him.
Neal could tell the moment that Peter saw him. He stopped, shock and wonderment in his eyes. Neal wanted to run to him, but he couldn’t move. And then, after more than a year, they were face to face, closer than they’d been since the morning Peter threw him out.
Neal hoped, he hoped that Peter was happy to see him – or at least not angry that he was here. He had his answer when a beloved hand reached out and touched him, the feel of those fingers against his face was an aching benediction and he turned his face into Peter’s palm.
Peter didn’t say a word, but the look on his face was heartbreaking.
Neal begged, “Forgive me. Please forgive me.” He reached out and touched Peter’s face, tracing the tears that streamed down his cheeks.
Peter finally spoke – the words echoing his own in harsh sobs. “Neal, I am sorry, I am so very sorry. Please forgive me.”
Neal leaned and brushed his lips against Peter’s ear, all he could say was. “Forgive me, too.”
When Peter wrapped his arms around him, all Neal could think was that it was all worth it. For this - this homecoming. It was worth it.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-05 12:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-05 01:35 pm (UTC)Yes, yes - more is on the way!