![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elrhiarhodanTitle: Love Is As Rich As the Sea – Part VI
Neal’s rage, contained for so many hours, gave him the speed and strength needed to strike before Keller could pull the trigger.
Elizabeth fell back, out of the way, as the lifeless body collapsed. The gun rattled on the warped planks and the baseball bat rolled into the water. Neal pulled the knife out and Keller’s body fell into the bay.
“Are you all right?” Neal went to his knees next to her.
“Yes, I’m all right but what just happened? I thought he was going to kill me, and all of a sudden, he’s dead? What did you do?” Elizabeth was near the edge of hysteria.
Neal held her gently. “I have certain gifts -- I’ll explain to you later.” He let go and started to strip.
“What are you doing?”
“I have to leave – if just for a while. I need to take care of Keller.” Neal picked up the short sword and flung it deep into the bay. The bright metal of the blade shone briefly against the rising sun before it disappeared into the water.
“Neal, don’t leave. Please, I need you.” She held out her hand to him, pleading for him to stay.
“Peter will be here in a few minutes; Diana, Moz and Jones aren’t far behind. You’re safe now. I –” Neal didn’t know what to say, but he remembered the feel of her body, so tense and afraid, then so trusting. “Elizabeth, I love you. Remember that always.”
He finished stripping, threw all his clothes in the water and stepped into the skin. He transformed into the shape he was born to and nuzzled Elizabeth’s outstretched palm.
Goodbye.
Neal eased himself into the cold waters of the Long Island Sound; the sensation was exquisite to the point of pain. It had been so very long.
He bobbed on the surface for a few moments, watching as the bright lights from police helicopters searched the area. He thought he saw Peter running from the house down to the dock, and stayed until he was certain. But he needed to go; he had one more task to accomplish before this night was finished.
Neal dove beneath the waves, the selkie’s eyes now perfectly suited for the dark underwater environment. He quickly found what he was looking for – Matthew Keller’s lifeless body.
His first thought was to bury it here, under the rocks, but that could raise too many questions if they sent divers to look for them. Better that he take it out with the tide. Let this horrible chapter close.
Neal took Keller’s collar between his teeth and started swimming. He wasn’t fast, and without the rip current to pull him along, it would have been impossible to carry Keller’s body to the deeper waters. There were boats moving through the water – big, fast-moving ones, likely Coast Guard cutters that the FBI called in. At first, he dodged the vessels. Then Neal realized that they could work for him, and he let the boats’ propellers cut into Keller’s body. By the time he reached the Long Island Sound, the corpse had lost its arms. He pulled it along until he was at least a mile east of the nearest landfall and dove.
It took him to the point of exhaustion, but he buried Keller’s body under the glacial rocks. It was a pity there were no sharks in the area, that could have solved his problem with a lot less effort.
Neal swam just under the waves, heading back west and surfacing long enough to see the black silhouette of Hart Island against the morning sky. He was exhausted, and could haul out in safety on those rocky shores. Or he could give into the singular temptation to let the tide just take him out into the Sound, and from there, the deep cold waters of the Atlantic.
But he remembered the look on Peter’s face when he kissed him, the sound of Peter’s desperate thoughts in his head, the warmth of Elizabeth’s hand against his snout. He remembered the promise he made to both of them. He couldn’t leave – he never wanted to leave.
Less than twelve hours ago, he had been ready to settle down with Peter and Elizabeth; he was looking forward to taking care of them for the rest of their lives. If he took his freedom now, the world would think he died with Keller in the water. There would be nothing to keep him from going home, the place he had longed for, for so many centuries.
Nothing to keep him from his kin, his family.
But that freedom had too high a price. If he left now, he could never come back. Elizabeth and Peter would be as lost to him as if they were dead. He’d never have the chance to make it right with Moz. All the people he’d come to care about, the life that he reluctantly embraced and now loved without reservation would be out of reach forever.
Neal let the tide carry him onto the island’s rocky shore. He stepped out of the skin, and stroked it gently. It looked up at him, conveying a wealth of regret and understanding. Neal shivered, naked and cold under the dawn sky. He thought about hiding his skin under a pile of rocks far up the shoreline, but there was too much risk. He didn’t want to wait another three hundred years to find it again.
He wrapped it around his waist and sat down. The head rested on his knee like a sleepy child. Neal stroked it, and closed his eyes against the bright reflection of the sun against the waves.
_________________________
When he lost the connection with Neal, Peter did the only thing he could do. He called Hughes and told him where Keller was, there would be choppers in the air in minutes, and they’d coordinate with the Coast Guard. Hughes told him to sit tight, but Peter ignored him. There was no changing the end game now. The next call was to Diana, he gave her the address and told her it was going down now.
Peter sped back to the house where Keller was keeping Elizabeth and Neal, cursing the narrow, one-way streets. The front of the house was quiet, no change from when he had dropped Neal off two hours ago. Keeping to the shadows, Peter made it to the front door without any challenge, and there was still no sign of movement inside.
Going in without backup was probably the stupidest thing he could do, but backup was ten minutes away. He couldn’t wait. Peter swallowed and drew his gun, hoping like hell that Neal was right and Keller had killed his crew. The front door was reinforced and wouldn’t come down without a battering ram, but there were wide sidelights flanking it. Peter shot the one closest to the doorknob, and the thick glass exploded inward. A solid kick and framework hit the floor. He waited one second, then another and no one challenged him.
Protecting his face, Peter climbed through the opening and discovered why he wasn’t under fire. There was a dead body in the foyer, at the foot of the staircase. He checked the kitchen; there were two more bodies and an open door.
Afraid of what he would find, he crossed through the room and went out the door. The night sky was fading into dawn, the pale perfect light illuminating a single figure on the deck. His heart stopped, even at this distance, in the dim light, he could see it was Elizabeth. There was no sign of Keller or Neal.
He ran down the path to the dock, training and two decades of experience forgotten in the need to get to her. El’s body was taut with exhaustion and pain, her face tear streaked.
“Honey, I’ve got you, you’re safe. You’re safe now.” He held her gently, fighting the need to crush her in his arms.
Her uninjured hand grabbed him, her nails like claws. “Don’t let go, don’t ever let me go.” She was sobbing.
Peter had to ask, he had to be prepared for the questions that were going to come. “Honey, Elizabeth. Can you tell me what happened?”
She took a shuddering breath, struggling to compose her thoughts. “Neal, he … he killed him. He did something – it was too quick. I think he stabbed Keller through the heart. Keller was going to kill me, kill Neal.” El buried her face in his shoulder, repeating that last sentence over and over.
Peter saw no sign of a body. No sign of Neal. No sign of the skin.
“El, where are they?”
“In the water. They both went into the water.”
There were way too many balls in the air right now, and keeping the stories straight could be impossible. “When they ask, just say you saw them go into the water – nothing else.”
She nodded. "I understand."
The sun was visible over the horizon, gilding the waves. Peter could make out two Coast Guard cutters fast approaching. He thought he heard helicopters. “Hon, I need to call this in.” Elizabeth relaxed her hold and Peter dialed Hughes.
“Peter, what’s going on?” His boss shouted and he winced.
“It’s done. Elizabeth’s safe.”
“And Keller?”
“I think he’s dead.”
“You think?”
“El says that he attacked Neal with a knife, and they went into the water.” He didn’t think twice about lying.
“Caffrey? What was Caffrey doing there?”
“Not now, Reese. I’ll explain later.” Peter tucked El against him and closed his eyes. Exhaustion washed over him like a wave. It was hard to believe that this day had started with the raid on Elliot Richardson’s penthouse and the recovery of a Degas. A forged Degas.
There were shouts from the house. Diana and Clinton were giving each other the all clear. He heard footsteps behind him; they were coming down the path and skidded to a stop.
Diana spoke first, asking them if they were all right. Jones followed quickly with a question about Neal.
“He went into the water with Keller – you need to get in touch with the helicopter crews …” He raised his voice to a shout to be heard over the approaching sirens. “Neal’s out there. You have to find him.” Peter couldn’t allow himself to worry about Neal, Elizabeth had to be his first priority.
SWAT teams poured into the house and down the back yard, Hughes and Rice following closely behind. Peter coaxed Elizabeth to her feet, they’d meet the ambulance on the street.
“Burke …” Hughes must have seen something in his expression, he never finished what he was about to say. “Go, get Elizabeth to the ambulance.”
They started to walk back up to the street, but Reese laid a hand on his arm. “I don’t know what the fallout is going to be from this, Peter.”
He looked down at his wife; she was leaning against him and barely able to stand. He swept her up into his arms. “Right now, I can’t bring myself to care.”
There were medical personnel waiting for him, and he reluctantly handed Elizabeth over so she could be put onto a gurney for transportation. As the EMTs strapped her in, El started to struggle and cried out.
Peter swallowed the urge to take charge. “Do you have to keep her tied down?”
The technicians looked at each other and one rather drily asked, “You’re going to want to ride with her, too?”
“I’m not letting her out of my sight.”
They lifted the gurney into the back of the ambulance, and Peter followed. As soon as the techs were secured, they unbuckled Elizabeth and let her sit up.
“Who bandaged your wrist?” The tech gave the binding an appreciative look.
“Neal.” The name was a breath, a prayer.
“This Neal, he certainly knows how to MacGuyver a splint. We’ll let the ortho team take it apart.”
Elizabeth hissed when the tech swabbed at the cut on her cheek. “Mrs. Burke, can you look directly at me?” The tech flashed a bright light into her eyes and Peter held her as she flinched and tried to turn away.
“Hon, just a few more moments, they just need to do this.”
The early morning traffic was still light enough that they made it to New York-Presbyterian without delay. There was both a medical and a security team waiting in the Emergency Room bay.
Thankfully, the stay in the ER was brief. She was deemed a high profile/high security patient and whisked off to a private room. Peter stayed with Elizabeth through the initial examination, holding her hand – her uninjured hand – while nurses and technician and finally doctors came through. Peter suffered with her through the endless questions, kept his temper in check when a nurse asked, with terrible compassion, if a rape kit was needed.
El shook her head no, and the nurse asked if she wanted Peter to wait outside. El looked up and said in a tired, weary voice. “He didn’t touch me.”
The nurse took him aside. “According to your wife’s statement, there was a period of time when she was unconscious.”
The rape kit process was its own humiliation, and Peter didn’t want El to suffer that unnecessarily. “The men who kidnapped my wife are all dead. There’s no need to preserve evidence. But if something happened to her …”
“Her health could be at risk.” The nurse completed his thought. “We’ll do the blood work. There’s no need for swabs, if what you say is true.”
A doctor came in and introduced herself as an orthopedic surgeon. She, too, expressed admiration for the makeshift splint.
“What’s this?” She pulled out a pair of scissors, snipped off something and held it up.
“My wedding band.” The doctor dropped it into Peter’s outstretched hand and all of the anxiety, all of the sick terror for Neal that he’d been keeping at bay almost swallowed him whole.
El looked up at him, she understood. Peter held himself still, and focused on what the doctor was doing.
She made all sorts of hmmming noises, carefully touching the bruised and swollen flesh. “We’ll need x-rays to see how bad the fracture is.”
Peter let the doctor pull him out of the room when the portable x-ray unit arrived. “The notes say your wife’s hand was crushed – but the bruising shows finger marks.”
“She was kidnapped last night; the man who took her squeezed her wrist hard enough to break bones.”
“Ah.” There was a wealth of skepticism in that syllable.
“Ah?” Peter was losing patience.
“I was wondering if this was a case of domestic violence. She’s got two black eyes and her jaw is swollen. If I checked with the police, they’d support your story?”
“You can call the FBI – ask for Agent Kathleen Rice in the Kidnapping and Missing Persons unit. She handled the case.”
His phone rang, it was Diana. He turned his back on the doctor and answered it. “Tell me you have news. Tell me you found him.”
_________________________
Moz had endured more losses in his life than any one person ever should. The pain and lingering humiliation of his abandonment, the loss of the family he might have had. Friends and lovers who walked away without a backwards glance for reasons he could never understand.
The losses tonight, though, were of his own making. And yet, as devastating as they were, they weren’t as permanent as he first thought. It was going to take some time for him to forgive Neal – not for the terror he put him through – but for choosing to stay, choosing a friendship that didn’t include him within that magic circle. Choosing Peter over him.
But there was that moment at June’s, when Peter – Peter – rested his hand on his shoulder and looked at him, trusted him to help make this right. And the look in Neal’s eyes – no anger, just need. Maybe staying here, without the treasure, maybe it would be all right.
The truck came to a lurching stop and the engine was cut. Moz waited for Diana or Jones to come back and tell him what the next step in the plan was. And he waited and waited.
The truck didn’t move and no one came. Could they have forgotten he was back there?
Moz considered his options. He could hide behind one of the crates and wait for Keller or his goons to come and check it out, or he could go see what was happening. Without a weapon, the first choice was suicidal. The second choice could be suicidal, but not so much.
The truck door was heavy and difficult to lift from the inside, but he managed to crack it open a few inches. The early morning breeze that snuck under the door was cool on his sweating torso. No one was shouting or poking guns through the opening. No one was saying anything.
He opened the door just a little more. Still nothing. Moz waited, then knelt down to look. No sign of another human being. Just the cicadas singing their morning prayers.
Fed up with the cautious approach, Moz opened the door all the way and jumped out. There were lights flashing down the street and helicopters approaching, but nothing within target distance. He went to the front of the truck. The cab was empty and the keys were gone.
Not that missing keys could ever stop him.
He took a deep breath. He could take the truck and go. He could be gone before anyone realized it, the boat he’d arranged for was not departing until seven a.m. He could be there within the hour.
This was the choice of a lifetime. Leave and have a life of resplendent loneliness. A life where he’d always be looking over his shoulder. A life lived off of bloodstains and murder.
Or he could stay. And have Neal, plus all of Neal’s baggage. Have the Fed sling an arm around his shoulder and watch his back. Another Fed lend him a sweatshirt. The Lady Fed look at him with confused affection.
Moz blinked and wondered what the hell he was doing, why it was even a question of choice. He sat down on the back bumper and tried to make sense of this sea change.
He had once told Peter it wasn’t about the stuff – of course that was a big lie. The stuff was always important. But having the freedom to live the life he wanted – without rules or boundaries – meant living alone, avoiding any form of attachment. Maybe the old Moz – the child who ran away rather than stand up for himself – would have found that an acceptable tradeoff.
He turned and looked at the boxes filled with billions of dollars in art and precious items. Could it give it all up? Yes, well sort of.
There was a small crate near the back of the truck; it was heavy – almost too heavy. But Moz was never without his resources. The loading ramp slid out easily and it took just a minute to load the box onto the handcart. He rolled it into the empty field where the truck was parked, covering it with some dirt and pieces of the garbage scattered about. Biting his lip, Moz hoped it was enough to camouflage it. He’d hate for someone to stumble upon a crate of solid gold bars before he could get back and claim it.
The Young Suit came jogging up to the truck just as he finished wiping everything clean of fingerprints (not that his were in the system) and sat down, basking in the dawn light.
“Is everything okay? Is El – Mrs. Burke all right?”
The man gave him a searching look, like he almost didn’t believe that Moz and the truck were still there.
“Mrs. Burke’s fine.”
“Keller? Neal?”
From the expression on his face, that news wasn’t so good.
_________________________
The passage of the morning sun was slow. Neal tried to relax and wait for a rescue. But memories made it impossible.
He closed his eyes and kept seeing Peter’s face, a thousand expressions all in the space of a single day. Aggravation when he found the lock picks – was that really just yesterday morning? Triumph when he opened the holding room door with the rolled up Degas; frustration and bitter disappointment when Kramer pronounced the painting a forgery. The fear and anger and utter desolation when he came home and found Elizabeth gone.
The images scrolled behind his eyes, Peter taking him outside, the anger giving way to desperation; the too-brief hours at his apartment when all of the lies, his lies and Peter's, were revealed, when they became friends again. And that final moment on a dark and quiet suburban street; Peter’s face as close as a thought. Shock, relief, wonder, joy.
Whatever happened to him, he’d take those images with him to his grave.
His skin nudged him, tucked its head under his palm, like a cat seeking a caress, or Satchmo when he was in a needy mood.
The sound of helicopter rotors interrupted his thoughts and Neal stood up. The chopper, NYPD by its markings, was flying low and in a search pattern. He held the skin over his groin and waved with the other arm. They must have spotted him, because the chopper changed direction and swung over to the island. Neal covered his face to keep the sand and grit out of his eyes as it landed on the grassy rise above the shoreline.
He squinted against the whirlwind and was surprised to see Diana jump out and run down to him.
“Caffrey – you’re alive!” She hugged him and then pulled back. “And you’re naked!”
He grinned. His face hurt but he grinned like an idiot. “Yeah, I am alive.”
“Where the hell are your clothes?”
“I stripped – I didn’t want to drown.” It was a convenient lie, and would have been the truth if he hadn’t turned into a seal.
One of the chopper’s crew members came down to the beach with a thermal blanket and Neal gratefully wrapped it around himself.
“Can you walk up to the helicopter? Do you want us to bring down a gurney?” The woman shouted at him.
He looked at the rocky beach, his bare feet and the rocks he’d need to climb. He was exhausted past the point of pride. “That would be nice.”
Diana rubbed her eyes. “I thought you were dead. We’ve been circling for hours.”
“Did you …” Neal hated to ask. “Did you find Keller?”
“We found an arm. It may be his.”
His little game of brinksmanship with the propellers was paying off.
“But how did you get here?” Diana had to ask.
“I’m a strong swimmer.”
The look on her face all but called him a liar.
“Come on, Di. How do you think I got here? There was a rip current last night – it pulled me out into the bay as soon as I fell into the water. Best course of action is not to fight the current, to swim across. How else would I have gotten here?” He put on his most honest, trustworthy face.
“I don’t know, Caffrey –”
He changed the subject. “How’s Elizabeth?”
“She seemed all right, other than what Keller did to her. Peter went with her to the hospital.”
Neal sent up a small prayer.
“But what happened? What did Keller do?”
“Di – should I tell you, or should I wait for an official debrief?”
She didn’t answer him at first. “Wait. You’d better wait.”
“For both our sakes…I don’t want you to have to testify about what I said.”
“You’re way too devious, Caffrey.”
“No, Diana – I’m just always thinking.”
The crew came back with the gurney and Neal let them strap him in. Him and his skin.
It was too noisy to talk on the flight to the hospital – the crew wouldn’t give him a headset. When they landed and transferred him to the hospital’s gurney, someone tried to take the skin.
“No, don’t.” He pulled it back, afraid that it would get vicious, like it did with Keller. That could raise all sorts of interesting problems. He called to Diana.
“What’s the matter, Neal?”
“I need you to take this.” He thrust the unanimated skin at her.
“Ewww – this is gross. Why are you giving me a dead animal?”
“Diana, please.” Neal begged. “Take it, give it to Peter. Whatever you do, don’t lose it.”
She picked up on his urgency and stuck two fingers through the eye sockets, holding it at arm’s length. Neal tried not to wince.
“Find Peter, give it to him. Please, it’s vital.”
“Caffrey, you’ve spent too much time in the sun, or maybe you’ve got salt water poisoning. But I’ll give it to Peter as soon as I can.”
They were wheeling him to the elevator. “Don’t lose it.” He watched as she draped it over her shoulder and pulled out her phone. The skin’s head looked up at him once and then fell back, flat and lifeless.
_________________________
“We have him, Boss.”
Peter was almost dizzy with relief.
“Where?”
“He said a rip current took him out into the bay. We found him on Hart Island. Sitting on the beach in his birthday suit and a sunburn, without a care in the world.”
“Neal’s a strong swimmer. What about Keller?”
He breathed a silent prayer when she told him about the arm they recovered. “What’s your ETA?”
“Zero – we landed and they took Neal down to Emergency.”
Peter looked through the doorway, at Elizabeth and the doctor. He couldn’t leave, not just yet. “Can you go and stay with Neal?”
“I’ve got to give you something first, where can I meet you?”
He had no clue what that could be, but he told her what floor they were on and El’s room number.
“I’ll be there in five.”
He went back into the room; the doctor had the x-ray on the light board. Even to his untrained eyes, the multiple dark spots didn’t look good.
“Your wife has a comminuted fracture, we’ll have to operate.”
“When?”
“I was just checking with the rest of my surgical team. We can put her wrist into a temporary cast and take her down tomorrow, or we can operate now. I understand that she’s been through a lot of trauma over the past twenty-four hours, but given the severity of the fracture it may not be in her best interest to wait.”
Peter brushed the hair away from Elizabeth brow, she was falling asleep, thankfully.
“If she waits, what are the risks?”
“Clotting, swelling, further shifting on the bones. We can immobilize her and do pain management if you want to wait.”
“El?” Peter hated to wake her, but he had to.
She opened her eyes. “They want to operate on your hand now, is that okay?”
“Yes.” And she promptly dropped back to sleep.
The doctor made a few more notes, told them that the prep team would be in within the half hour and left.
Peter didn’t think he had ever been so tired in his life. He held El’s hand – the uninjured one – and closed his eyes. The past twenty-four hours were going to haunt him forever.
A soft voice woke him. “Peter?”
He looked up. It was Diana, and she was carrying Neal’s skin – of all things.
It took far too much effort, but Peter stood up and walked into the hallway.
“Neal’s okay?”
“Yeah, surprisingly so. He told me to give you this.” She all but dumped the skin into his arms. “What the hell is it?”
Peter didn’t want to even try and explain. “Trust me, Di – you don’t want to know.”
“Caffrey was adamant that I shouldn’t lose it. Frankly, it should be dropped in the nearest incinerator. It’s disgusting.”
Peter gently stroked the skin, a small, soothing movement that Diana wouldn’t see. He didn’t know for sure, but he suspected that her harsh words hurt it’s … well, feelings.
“Clinton’s retrieved the treasure – it’s in secure storage at the Federal Building.”
Peter blinked. “You know, with everything, I forgot about it. I can’t believe I forgot about it.”
“Frankly, I was stunned when Jones reported in. We left Moz and the truck up the block from Keller’s house.”
“And he didn’t just drive off with it?”
“Nope, the little guy was sitting on the back bumper, just waiting. Funny, a lot like the way we found Neal. I wonder what they’re up to?”
Peter knew that Neal, at least, wasn’t up to anything. He couldn’t say the same for Moz. But that was something to be sorted out later.
“Go home, Di. Get some sleep. We’re all going to have busy days ahead of us.”
“Yeah, that’s for sure.”
“And, Di…” He called after her.
“What, boss?”
“Thanks, for everything.”
“I’d do it again – no questions asked.”
_________________________
What a cluster fuck.
Hughes ground his teeth in painful frustration. His best agents were going to get strung up by their thumbs for this night’s work. The only saving grace was Elizabeth Burke’s recovery.
Peter did everything wrong and yet … the outcome was better than anyone could have hoped. He had learned, to his deepest regret, that Matthew Keller was a conscienceless murderer who would have killed Peter’s wife even if he had gotten what he wanted.
And that was the sticking point, no one really knew what his demands were. No one except Peter and probably Caffrey.
Who was another problem.
He thought for certain that Caffrey was gone for good. When Diana had called in with the news that they found him, he almost didn’t believe her. Back on City Island, when he found Peter and Elizabeth on that dock, no sign of either Keller or Caffrey, for a moment he actually thought the two men had planned the whole thing.
But as quickly as that thought occurred, he dismissed it. Not only was it inconceivable that Neal would be part of anything that would put Elizabeth Burke in harm’s way, Elizabeth herself said that Caffrey saved her life and fell into the water fighting with Keller. And a truck filled with the missing U-boat treasure was found abandoned a few hundred yards from the house.
Neal wasn’t given the same courtesy as Elizabeth Burke. He was kept in a small curtained area off the main section of the ER, heavily guarded by U.S. Marshals. He flashed his badge and asked them to step away for a few minutes.
Despite the sunburn, the salt-stiffened hair and well-worn hospital gown, the IVs and monitors, the shackle chaining him to the bed, Caffrey was, well, Caffrey. Lying there like he didn’t have a care in the world.
The little bastard grinned at him. “Agent Hughes, so good of you to come check on me.”
“Can it, Caffrey.”
Neal dropped the smile and his exhaustion was obvious. “What now, sir.”
That’s better. “You should go back to prison for your stunt last night. Or get a commendation. I can’t decide which.”
“I’ll tell you everything.”
“No, Caffrey – you won’t. You’ll get a lawyer and keep your mouth shut until it’s time to testify at the Morrissey hearing that the brass is going to insist on. You’re going to go back to your apartment and you’re going to stay there. You’re not going to discuss anything with Peter or Berrigan or Jones. You’re going to be on your very best behavior.”
He had the grace to look cowed, but Hughes didn’t buy it at all.
“You are going to need to be prepared to answer questions about collusion with Matthew Keller.”
“Collusion? How could anyone think that?” Caffrey’s shock was authentic.
“You knew where to find him, that’s why.” Damn – he shouldn’t be telling him this.
But all Neal did was laugh. “That’s all? I know quite a few of Keller’s aliases. When Peter sent me home, I hacked into the city’s deed title database. The house on City Island was the most likely property. I contacted Peter and told him.”
“Peter should have told us, we would have …”
“You would have gotten Elizabeth killed. The minute Keller got any hint of an attack, he would have killed her. He killed his guards because he thought they betrayed him.”
“Neal – enough.” Peter walked in. “Sir, do you think it appropriate to question Neal like this?”
Hughes shook his head. “You shouldn’t be here, Peter.”
“They’ve taken Elizabeth into surgery.”
“That’s not what I mean. Your career is on very thin ice – Caffrey’s involvement in your wife’s kidnapping is suspect. He broke out of his tracker.”
“No, he didn’t.” He should have been surprised, shocked even when Peter pulled the anklet out of his pocket. “I took it off Neal.”
“Peter, don’t.” Neal actually tried to shut Peter up.
“Neal.” It was interesting how Peter said Caffrey’s name, and how Caffrey reacted. All the fight went out of the young man.
This was a mess – a tangled mess of lies and misdirection and Reese wasn’t sure if anything was salvageable. He did the only thing he could at the moment. He held out his hand. “The key?”
Peter took it off his keyring and handed it over. Hughes unlocked the shackle and replaced it with the tracker.
“I’m trusting both of you. Don’t make me regret it.”
Coming back to his apartment was like stepping back in time, especially when he found Mozzie dozing on his couch, a half empty glass of wine and his last bottle of Barolo on the coffee table. He closed the door as quietly as he could, no need to wake Moz. Especially since all Neal wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for the rest of the year.
But he wasn’t quiet enough, or Moz really wasn’t asleep. He was halfway to his bedroom when Moz sat up and scrubbed at his face – stopping with an ouch as his rings snagged on the scabs.
“Hey, Neal.”
“Hey, Moz.”
It was as neutral an exchange as they ever had. Neal changed out of the hospital scrubs he’d been given into a pair of sweatpants and a clean tee shirt. He thought longingly of a hot shower, but made himself a cup of coffee instead. It was going to be a while before he’d get any sleep.
“Want one?”
“Nah, I’m good.” Moz drank the rest of the wine in one gulp and Neal winced.
The silence in the room, broken only by the sound of the coffee machine, became oppressive. Neal couldn’t let this go on any longer.
“Look, Moz – I’m …”
But Moz beat him to it. “Neal, I’m sorry”
“So am I – for everything.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Neal sat across from the man he still considered his closest friend. “Are you okay?” His gaze took in the narrow scabs on Moz’s face. He was sickedn by the memory of what he had done.
“Yeah – they’ll heal by the end of the week.” Moz scratched at the one on his chest.
“If you don’t pick at them.” Neal hoped a little humor would help.
“Don’t be disgusting.” Moz smiled, but then turned serious. “Look – I’m really sorry – for everything.”
“It’s okay, Moz. I understand.”
“I lied about your skin, I needed to be persuaded to give up the treasure.” The last ended on a sob.
He moved over to the couch and wrapped an arm around Moz. “Shh, shh.” Neal pressed a soft kiss on that bald pate. “It’s over, it’s all right. Everyone’s safe.”
“But …” Moz sniffled and dragged a sleeve across his nose.
“But nothing, Moz. We’ve all got what we wanted.” Neal paused. “Well, all except you. I’m sorry that you lost the treasure.”
“It’s okay. I don’t think it was meant to be.”
There was something in Mozzie’s voice that set off warning bells.
“Moz?”
“Well, you still have The Masked Dancers.”
“Yes, that I do. But it’s not going anywhere.” Neal still had to figure out what he was going to do with the painting. “There’s something else you’re not telling me.”
Moz reached down and hefted a box up and onto the table. “Here, this is your share.”
The box was too small, too heavy. Neal immediately knew what it contained. He grinned. “You – you ... ”
A chuckle erupted from Moz. “Consider it an early birthday present, mon frère.” He turned serious. “What happened to Keller?”
“The less you know about that, the better.”
“He’s not coming back, I presume.”
“You presume correctly.”
Moz stood up and patted Neal on the shoulder. “Good job – but I don’t owe you the six million, you know.”
“That never occurred to me.”
“No, I don’t suppose it would have. El and Peter?”
“She’s in rough shape, and they needed to operate to repair the bones Keller broke. Peter hasn’t left her side.”
“Do you think I’ll be able to get in to see her? I owe her an apology.” For what, he left that unsaid.
“Wait a few days – I think she’ll be happy to see you.
“Yeah, that’s probably for the best.” Moz paused, but didn’t look at him. “What about you – your ‘deal’?”
“There’ll be a hearing – there’s a risk I’ll lose my probation.” He shrugged.
“You seem way too sanguine about that.”
“Que sera, sera. There is no crime they can charge me with, except for breaking FBI procedure. I can do the rest of my time if I have to.”
“You’re staying because of the Suit.”
“And Elizabeth. I love them, Moz. And I’m staying for you, and Sara and everyone else – you all matter too much to me. Do you know what Keller said to me – when he found me at Raquel LaRoque’s? He said, ‘Congratulations, you have friends.’ As if that was a bad thing.”
Moz opened the door. “Friends – yeah. Not a bad thing to have after all.” He pointed his chin at the box. “Best put that away before your other friends come calling.”
The door closed softly behind him and Neal took a sip of his coffee. It was perfectly, deliciously mundane. He opened the box. Nestled in a bed of wood shavings were three gold bars, the assay marks (which probably featured a Third Reich insignia) carefully hammered out. He took them into the closet. The space where he kept his knives and the stolen scarab was a perfect hiding place.
After a while, he might even forget they were there.
_________________________
Elizabeth was discharged from the hospital two days after her surgery, a full day after Neal was released. The bruises on her face had turned purple and green and yellow and Peter found himself entertaining revenge fantasies. They were vivid.
And pointless. Matthew Keller was dead.
The arm that was found was positively identified from the fingerprints, and the coroner stated that the detachment was postmortem, likely cut from the body by a boat propeller. The Coast Guard was watching for remaining body parts, but the prevailing rip currents meant that it could wash ashore anywhere from Connecticut to the tip of Long Island.
El was tucked into the car, and Peter had just pulled out of the hospital garage when she said with abrupt finality. “I don’t want to go home.”
“Hon?”
“I can’t go home. Not yet. I just can’t.” She wasn’t hysterical, just adamant. Peter understood.
“Where do you want to go? A hotel?”
“No, I want to go to Neal’s. Only good things happen there.” When he didn’t answer right away, El whispered, “Please.”
Peter didn’t think twice about it. Whatever Elizabeth wanted, he was going to give to her. He didn’t care that the higher-ups would be troubled by this. He hadn’t been expressly prohibited from talking to Neal, but they’d undoubtedly frown on any extended contact between them.
Fuck them all. If El wanted to be at Neal’s, with Neal, that’s where they were going.
There was a convenient parking spot in front of June’s and Peter helped Elizabeth out of the car. “You okay?”
She gave him a wry smile. “I’ve been better, but I’ve been worse too. I’m just tired”
Peter went to shut the car door, but El stopped him. “I need that – can you get it for me?” She was looking at the skin draped across the back seat. It lifted its head, acknowledging their attention.
He reached into the car and the skin draped itself over his arm, then flowed over to Elizabeth. Elizabeth’s insistence on keeping the skin with her in the hospital had disturbed the nurses.
June’s housekeeper, Magda, let them in and El asked if Neal was home. Peter hadn’t told her that Neal’s radius had been reduced to the dimensions of the mansion.
“Mr. Neal is in his apartment. Mr. Moz isn’t here, though.”
Peter was relieved.
They were about to take the stairs, but Magda took one look at El’s face and her cast and led them to the back of the house. “You take the service elevator.”
The ride was creaky, and it would have taken less time to climb the stairs, but Elizabeth was so clearly at the end of her reserves. The door opened into a short hallway – Neal’s vast closet on the right, the bathroom on the left and the apartment directly ahead. He knocked once, listened for any movement, and knocked again.
El leaned against him, the skin wriggling under her chin. Despite the warmth, she rubbed her face against the fur. Peter thought the connection between his wife and this creature, this part of Neal, was so intensely intimate. But it didn’t bother him at all. It felt … right.
Peter was about to knock for a third time when the door opened. Neal was bare-chested, sleep disheveled, his face full of pillow creases. He never looked more perfect.
_________________________
Neal pulled a pillow over his head, blocking out the light. He’d been trying to sleep since Moz left yesterday, but his brain wouldn’t turn off. No matter how much wine he drank, he couldn’t get the image of Keller’s face as he punctured his heart out of his mind. It was quiet, too quiet, and all he could think about was that he’d killed a man. Yes, in self-defense, in defense of someone he loved, but it was still a death. Not his first, but hopefully his last.
He rolled over, trying to find a comfortable spot but the bed was too warm, too cold, too … much.
Just as he started to sink into an uneasy sleep, a knock on the door brought him back to full wakefulness. Neal wasn’t sure he wanted to answer it. Moz would have been a little more creative in his knocking, if he even bothered. June was away – she had been for this entire debacle. That left the staff, who knew better than to bother him, and Peter. There was a second knock; Neal got up and pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms.
He opened the door to find Peter and Elizabeth – and his skin – on his threshold. Neal stepped aside to let them in, a million questions crowding his brain but he could only ask the most obvious.
“El, how are you?” She looked so fragile – if anything, worse than when he first saw her locked in that room.
“Alive, thanks to you.” She went from Peter’s side to his, wrapping her arms around him. Neal held her gently, she felt like she was about to break. He looked over to Peter, but he couldn’t read his expression.
He took refuge in politeness. “Can I get you anything?”
El nodded against his chest. “Your bed – I need to lie down.”
“Okay …” Neal didn’t know what to do, but at least Peter mouthed, please, let her. He directed Elizabeth to the couch. “Just sit down, let me change the sheets.”
“No, it’s fine the way it is.” She walked past him, a little unsteady as she toed off her shoes before climbing onto the mattress.
Peter went to the bed and helped her off with her street clothes. Neal looked away, embarrassed by the intimacy, and then grateful for something to do when Peter asked him for a glass of water, Elizabeth needed to take a pain killer.
Neal rushed to comply and turned his back again as Peter settled his wife. He heard their quiet conversation, which was somehow even more intimate. He was about to go onto the terrace, giving them absolute privacy, when he stopped, shocked. Peter had tucked his nearly naked wife into his bed with his skin.
He stood there, rattled and more than a little frightened.
Peter looked up, and Neal was reminded of a great cat – a lion protecting his pride. He pressed a gentle kiss against El’s forehead and left her asleep in his bed. Peter went out to the terrace and Neal followed, as helpless as a lodestone against magnetic north.
“What’s going on?”
“She didn’t want to go home. She wanted to come here – I’m sorry.”
Neal understood with terrible, painful clarity. “Don’t apologize. What can I do?”
“Just let her sleep. The painkillers are knocking her out, and sleep will help her heal.”
Neal shook his head at the irony. He hadn’t slept since he got home, and from the grey-tinged complexion, it looked like Peter hadn’t either.
“Why here, though?”
“She said that nothing bad ever happened to her here. That this was a place where only good things happened.” Peter sounded like he was on the verge of tears. “It’s true – our anniversary, our second wedding – hell, El came here and asked you to rescue me from Fowler.” Peter scrubbed his face.
“I’d forgotten about that. Seems like that was part of another life. A different set of people. A different us.”
“Really? Are we that different now?”
Neal sighed, this was all still so difficult. “It seems that way. Sometimes if feels like those early days are as distant as centuries. We trusted each other more.”
“That’s my fault.”
“Not all of it. And we’ve already done this round.”
“Yeah.”
They sat there, quiet under the afternoon sun. Peter opened his mouth to say something but closed it again.
“What?”
“Never mind.”
“No, you were about to say something.”
Peter fumbled through the words. “I – I wanted to know what it was like – being a selkie again.”
“I can’t describe it. Those first moments in the water. It was like …” Neal felt himself blushing.
“Like what?”
“Orgasm.” Neal was blunt and had no sympathy for Peter’s slightly shocked expression. “Well, you asked. Or like coming home after an endless journey. It was perfection, better than my memories.”
“Then why did you go ashore on Hart. Why didn’t you just keep going?”
“Because I promised Elizabeth I’d come back, because I promised you that, too. Because I love you.” Saying it now, under the bright blue sky, when there were no shadows to hide in was the bravest thing he’d ever done. “Before I got word that Keller had taken Elizabeth, Moz gave me an ultimatum. ‘Stay or go.’ I chose to stay.” Neal couldn’t help but laugh at the memory. “I thought how wonderful it would be to stay and watch over you and El as you grew old. How I’d take care of you.”
Peter snorted at that. “Neal, you can barely take care of yourself.”
He wasn’t insulted. “That’s what I’d like you to think. I’ve been on my own for centuries.”
Peter just gave him that look, an eyebrow arched and a smirk on his lips. It warmed him to the bone.
“I had hopes of eventually being invited to your Friday night poker games.” That seemed so silly now.
But Peter didn’t think so. “Maybe, the thought of inviting you had crossed my mind.”
“Really?” Neal felt like he was back at that moment when Peter called them partners.
“Hmmm.”
They fell back into silence. A pigeon landed on the stone merlon, cooing and fluttering before taking off again.
“What happens now?”
“I don’t know. There are going to ramifications, repercussions. Diana, Clinton and I are going to face the Disciplinary Board.” Peter didn’t say anything about what could happen to him. That was off limits.
“That’s not what I meant, you know.”
“Yeah, I do.”
“I don’t want to leave, no matter what happens. I’ve let so much slip through my fingers, simply because I never had anything I truly wanted to hold on to. But you and Elizabeth, I can’t let you go. Four years, forty or four hundred, you’re all I will ever need.” Neal blinked, it could have been the bright sun or the tears gathering in his throat.
“The other night, I said you weren’t alone your feelings. I love you too, I’ve loved you for a very long time. Well, long according to my lifespan.” Peter licked his lips, and Neal wondered why he was nervous – wasn’t everything out in the open? “There’s something you need to know. Something I have to tell you.”
Those words sparked a memory. “Haven’t we had this conversation?”
Peter must have remembered, too. “Not this one.” But it wasn’t something bad, Peter was wearing that beloved half-smile. “Remember the day I arrested you?”
“How could I forget? It may have been the finest moment of your career, but it didn’t rank too high on mine.”
“You held out your hand. I took it.”
Neal understood just what Peter was saying. “What did you see, Agent Burke?”
“Us. The three of us. Happy. Together.”
Neal held out his hand, frightened and elated. “And now, what do you see?”
Peter’s palm, rough with gun calluses, slid across his hand, intimate and familiar. Neal watched as a smile curved Peter’s lips and happiness rose like the sun. There was no need for Peter to answer.
FIN
Neal’s rage, contained for so many hours, gave him the speed and strength needed to strike before Keller could pull the trigger.
Elizabeth fell back, out of the way, as the lifeless body collapsed. The gun rattled on the warped planks and the baseball bat rolled into the water. Neal pulled the knife out and Keller’s body fell into the bay.
“Are you all right?” Neal went to his knees next to her.
“Yes, I’m all right but what just happened? I thought he was going to kill me, and all of a sudden, he’s dead? What did you do?” Elizabeth was near the edge of hysteria.
Neal held her gently. “I have certain gifts -- I’ll explain to you later.” He let go and started to strip.
“What are you doing?”
“I have to leave – if just for a while. I need to take care of Keller.” Neal picked up the short sword and flung it deep into the bay. The bright metal of the blade shone briefly against the rising sun before it disappeared into the water.
“Neal, don’t leave. Please, I need you.” She held out her hand to him, pleading for him to stay.
“Peter will be here in a few minutes; Diana, Moz and Jones aren’t far behind. You’re safe now. I –” Neal didn’t know what to say, but he remembered the feel of her body, so tense and afraid, then so trusting. “Elizabeth, I love you. Remember that always.”
He finished stripping, threw all his clothes in the water and stepped into the skin. He transformed into the shape he was born to and nuzzled Elizabeth’s outstretched palm.
Goodbye.
Neal eased himself into the cold waters of the Long Island Sound; the sensation was exquisite to the point of pain. It had been so very long.
He bobbed on the surface for a few moments, watching as the bright lights from police helicopters searched the area. He thought he saw Peter running from the house down to the dock, and stayed until he was certain. But he needed to go; he had one more task to accomplish before this night was finished.
Neal dove beneath the waves, the selkie’s eyes now perfectly suited for the dark underwater environment. He quickly found what he was looking for – Matthew Keller’s lifeless body.
His first thought was to bury it here, under the rocks, but that could raise too many questions if they sent divers to look for them. Better that he take it out with the tide. Let this horrible chapter close.
Neal took Keller’s collar between his teeth and started swimming. He wasn’t fast, and without the rip current to pull him along, it would have been impossible to carry Keller’s body to the deeper waters. There were boats moving through the water – big, fast-moving ones, likely Coast Guard cutters that the FBI called in. At first, he dodged the vessels. Then Neal realized that they could work for him, and he let the boats’ propellers cut into Keller’s body. By the time he reached the Long Island Sound, the corpse had lost its arms. He pulled it along until he was at least a mile east of the nearest landfall and dove.
It took him to the point of exhaustion, but he buried Keller’s body under the glacial rocks. It was a pity there were no sharks in the area, that could have solved his problem with a lot less effort.
Neal swam just under the waves, heading back west and surfacing long enough to see the black silhouette of Hart Island against the morning sky. He was exhausted, and could haul out in safety on those rocky shores. Or he could give into the singular temptation to let the tide just take him out into the Sound, and from there, the deep cold waters of the Atlantic.
But he remembered the look on Peter’s face when he kissed him, the sound of Peter’s desperate thoughts in his head, the warmth of Elizabeth’s hand against his snout. He remembered the promise he made to both of them. He couldn’t leave – he never wanted to leave.
Less than twelve hours ago, he had been ready to settle down with Peter and Elizabeth; he was looking forward to taking care of them for the rest of their lives. If he took his freedom now, the world would think he died with Keller in the water. There would be nothing to keep him from going home, the place he had longed for, for so many centuries.
Nothing to keep him from his kin, his family.
But that freedom had too high a price. If he left now, he could never come back. Elizabeth and Peter would be as lost to him as if they were dead. He’d never have the chance to make it right with Moz. All the people he’d come to care about, the life that he reluctantly embraced and now loved without reservation would be out of reach forever.
Neal let the tide carry him onto the island’s rocky shore. He stepped out of the skin, and stroked it gently. It looked up at him, conveying a wealth of regret and understanding. Neal shivered, naked and cold under the dawn sky. He thought about hiding his skin under a pile of rocks far up the shoreline, but there was too much risk. He didn’t want to wait another three hundred years to find it again.
He wrapped it around his waist and sat down. The head rested on his knee like a sleepy child. Neal stroked it, and closed his eyes against the bright reflection of the sun against the waves.
When he lost the connection with Neal, Peter did the only thing he could do. He called Hughes and told him where Keller was, there would be choppers in the air in minutes, and they’d coordinate with the Coast Guard. Hughes told him to sit tight, but Peter ignored him. There was no changing the end game now. The next call was to Diana, he gave her the address and told her it was going down now.
Peter sped back to the house where Keller was keeping Elizabeth and Neal, cursing the narrow, one-way streets. The front of the house was quiet, no change from when he had dropped Neal off two hours ago. Keeping to the shadows, Peter made it to the front door without any challenge, and there was still no sign of movement inside.
Going in without backup was probably the stupidest thing he could do, but backup was ten minutes away. He couldn’t wait. Peter swallowed and drew his gun, hoping like hell that Neal was right and Keller had killed his crew. The front door was reinforced and wouldn’t come down without a battering ram, but there were wide sidelights flanking it. Peter shot the one closest to the doorknob, and the thick glass exploded inward. A solid kick and framework hit the floor. He waited one second, then another and no one challenged him.
Protecting his face, Peter climbed through the opening and discovered why he wasn’t under fire. There was a dead body in the foyer, at the foot of the staircase. He checked the kitchen; there were two more bodies and an open door.
Afraid of what he would find, he crossed through the room and went out the door. The night sky was fading into dawn, the pale perfect light illuminating a single figure on the deck. His heart stopped, even at this distance, in the dim light, he could see it was Elizabeth. There was no sign of Keller or Neal.
He ran down the path to the dock, training and two decades of experience forgotten in the need to get to her. El’s body was taut with exhaustion and pain, her face tear streaked.
“Honey, I’ve got you, you’re safe. You’re safe now.” He held her gently, fighting the need to crush her in his arms.
Her uninjured hand grabbed him, her nails like claws. “Don’t let go, don’t ever let me go.” She was sobbing.
Peter had to ask, he had to be prepared for the questions that were going to come. “Honey, Elizabeth. Can you tell me what happened?”
She took a shuddering breath, struggling to compose her thoughts. “Neal, he … he killed him. He did something – it was too quick. I think he stabbed Keller through the heart. Keller was going to kill me, kill Neal.” El buried her face in his shoulder, repeating that last sentence over and over.
Peter saw no sign of a body. No sign of Neal. No sign of the skin.
“El, where are they?”
“In the water. They both went into the water.”
There were way too many balls in the air right now, and keeping the stories straight could be impossible. “When they ask, just say you saw them go into the water – nothing else.”
She nodded. "I understand."
The sun was visible over the horizon, gilding the waves. Peter could make out two Coast Guard cutters fast approaching. He thought he heard helicopters. “Hon, I need to call this in.” Elizabeth relaxed her hold and Peter dialed Hughes.
“Peter, what’s going on?” His boss shouted and he winced.
“It’s done. Elizabeth’s safe.”
“And Keller?”
“I think he’s dead.”
“You think?”
“El says that he attacked Neal with a knife, and they went into the water.” He didn’t think twice about lying.
“Caffrey? What was Caffrey doing there?”
“Not now, Reese. I’ll explain later.” Peter tucked El against him and closed his eyes. Exhaustion washed over him like a wave. It was hard to believe that this day had started with the raid on Elliot Richardson’s penthouse and the recovery of a Degas. A forged Degas.
There were shouts from the house. Diana and Clinton were giving each other the all clear. He heard footsteps behind him; they were coming down the path and skidded to a stop.
Diana spoke first, asking them if they were all right. Jones followed quickly with a question about Neal.
“He went into the water with Keller – you need to get in touch with the helicopter crews …” He raised his voice to a shout to be heard over the approaching sirens. “Neal’s out there. You have to find him.” Peter couldn’t allow himself to worry about Neal, Elizabeth had to be his first priority.
SWAT teams poured into the house and down the back yard, Hughes and Rice following closely behind. Peter coaxed Elizabeth to her feet, they’d meet the ambulance on the street.
“Burke …” Hughes must have seen something in his expression, he never finished what he was about to say. “Go, get Elizabeth to the ambulance.”
They started to walk back up to the street, but Reese laid a hand on his arm. “I don’t know what the fallout is going to be from this, Peter.”
He looked down at his wife; she was leaning against him and barely able to stand. He swept her up into his arms. “Right now, I can’t bring myself to care.”
There were medical personnel waiting for him, and he reluctantly handed Elizabeth over so she could be put onto a gurney for transportation. As the EMTs strapped her in, El started to struggle and cried out.
Peter swallowed the urge to take charge. “Do you have to keep her tied down?”
The technicians looked at each other and one rather drily asked, “You’re going to want to ride with her, too?”
“I’m not letting her out of my sight.”
They lifted the gurney into the back of the ambulance, and Peter followed. As soon as the techs were secured, they unbuckled Elizabeth and let her sit up.
“Who bandaged your wrist?” The tech gave the binding an appreciative look.
“Neal.” The name was a breath, a prayer.
“This Neal, he certainly knows how to MacGuyver a splint. We’ll let the ortho team take it apart.”
Elizabeth hissed when the tech swabbed at the cut on her cheek. “Mrs. Burke, can you look directly at me?” The tech flashed a bright light into her eyes and Peter held her as she flinched and tried to turn away.
“Hon, just a few more moments, they just need to do this.”
The early morning traffic was still light enough that they made it to New York-Presbyterian without delay. There was both a medical and a security team waiting in the Emergency Room bay.
Thankfully, the stay in the ER was brief. She was deemed a high profile/high security patient and whisked off to a private room. Peter stayed with Elizabeth through the initial examination, holding her hand – her uninjured hand – while nurses and technician and finally doctors came through. Peter suffered with her through the endless questions, kept his temper in check when a nurse asked, with terrible compassion, if a rape kit was needed.
El shook her head no, and the nurse asked if she wanted Peter to wait outside. El looked up and said in a tired, weary voice. “He didn’t touch me.”
The nurse took him aside. “According to your wife’s statement, there was a period of time when she was unconscious.”
The rape kit process was its own humiliation, and Peter didn’t want El to suffer that unnecessarily. “The men who kidnapped my wife are all dead. There’s no need to preserve evidence. But if something happened to her …”
“Her health could be at risk.” The nurse completed his thought. “We’ll do the blood work. There’s no need for swabs, if what you say is true.”
A doctor came in and introduced herself as an orthopedic surgeon. She, too, expressed admiration for the makeshift splint.
“What’s this?” She pulled out a pair of scissors, snipped off something and held it up.
“My wedding band.” The doctor dropped it into Peter’s outstretched hand and all of the anxiety, all of the sick terror for Neal that he’d been keeping at bay almost swallowed him whole.
El looked up at him, she understood. Peter held himself still, and focused on what the doctor was doing.
She made all sorts of hmmming noises, carefully touching the bruised and swollen flesh. “We’ll need x-rays to see how bad the fracture is.”
Peter let the doctor pull him out of the room when the portable x-ray unit arrived. “The notes say your wife’s hand was crushed – but the bruising shows finger marks.”
“She was kidnapped last night; the man who took her squeezed her wrist hard enough to break bones.”
“Ah.” There was a wealth of skepticism in that syllable.
“Ah?” Peter was losing patience.
“I was wondering if this was a case of domestic violence. She’s got two black eyes and her jaw is swollen. If I checked with the police, they’d support your story?”
“You can call the FBI – ask for Agent Kathleen Rice in the Kidnapping and Missing Persons unit. She handled the case.”
His phone rang, it was Diana. He turned his back on the doctor and answered it. “Tell me you have news. Tell me you found him.”
Moz had endured more losses in his life than any one person ever should. The pain and lingering humiliation of his abandonment, the loss of the family he might have had. Friends and lovers who walked away without a backwards glance for reasons he could never understand.
The losses tonight, though, were of his own making. And yet, as devastating as they were, they weren’t as permanent as he first thought. It was going to take some time for him to forgive Neal – not for the terror he put him through – but for choosing to stay, choosing a friendship that didn’t include him within that magic circle. Choosing Peter over him.
But there was that moment at June’s, when Peter – Peter – rested his hand on his shoulder and looked at him, trusted him to help make this right. And the look in Neal’s eyes – no anger, just need. Maybe staying here, without the treasure, maybe it would be all right.
The truck came to a lurching stop and the engine was cut. Moz waited for Diana or Jones to come back and tell him what the next step in the plan was. And he waited and waited.
The truck didn’t move and no one came. Could they have forgotten he was back there?
Moz considered his options. He could hide behind one of the crates and wait for Keller or his goons to come and check it out, or he could go see what was happening. Without a weapon, the first choice was suicidal. The second choice could be suicidal, but not so much.
The truck door was heavy and difficult to lift from the inside, but he managed to crack it open a few inches. The early morning breeze that snuck under the door was cool on his sweating torso. No one was shouting or poking guns through the opening. No one was saying anything.
He opened the door just a little more. Still nothing. Moz waited, then knelt down to look. No sign of another human being. Just the cicadas singing their morning prayers.
Fed up with the cautious approach, Moz opened the door all the way and jumped out. There were lights flashing down the street and helicopters approaching, but nothing within target distance. He went to the front of the truck. The cab was empty and the keys were gone.
Not that missing keys could ever stop him.
He took a deep breath. He could take the truck and go. He could be gone before anyone realized it, the boat he’d arranged for was not departing until seven a.m. He could be there within the hour.
This was the choice of a lifetime. Leave and have a life of resplendent loneliness. A life where he’d always be looking over his shoulder. A life lived off of bloodstains and murder.
Or he could stay. And have Neal, plus all of Neal’s baggage. Have the Fed sling an arm around his shoulder and watch his back. Another Fed lend him a sweatshirt. The Lady Fed look at him with confused affection.
Moz blinked and wondered what the hell he was doing, why it was even a question of choice. He sat down on the back bumper and tried to make sense of this sea change.
He had once told Peter it wasn’t about the stuff – of course that was a big lie. The stuff was always important. But having the freedom to live the life he wanted – without rules or boundaries – meant living alone, avoiding any form of attachment. Maybe the old Moz – the child who ran away rather than stand up for himself – would have found that an acceptable tradeoff.
He turned and looked at the boxes filled with billions of dollars in art and precious items. Could it give it all up? Yes, well sort of.
There was a small crate near the back of the truck; it was heavy – almost too heavy. But Moz was never without his resources. The loading ramp slid out easily and it took just a minute to load the box onto the handcart. He rolled it into the empty field where the truck was parked, covering it with some dirt and pieces of the garbage scattered about. Biting his lip, Moz hoped it was enough to camouflage it. He’d hate for someone to stumble upon a crate of solid gold bars before he could get back and claim it.
The Young Suit came jogging up to the truck just as he finished wiping everything clean of fingerprints (not that his were in the system) and sat down, basking in the dawn light.
“Is everything okay? Is El – Mrs. Burke all right?”
The man gave him a searching look, like he almost didn’t believe that Moz and the truck were still there.
“Mrs. Burke’s fine.”
“Keller? Neal?”
From the expression on his face, that news wasn’t so good.
The passage of the morning sun was slow. Neal tried to relax and wait for a rescue. But memories made it impossible.
He closed his eyes and kept seeing Peter’s face, a thousand expressions all in the space of a single day. Aggravation when he found the lock picks – was that really just yesterday morning? Triumph when he opened the holding room door with the rolled up Degas; frustration and bitter disappointment when Kramer pronounced the painting a forgery. The fear and anger and utter desolation when he came home and found Elizabeth gone.
The images scrolled behind his eyes, Peter taking him outside, the anger giving way to desperation; the too-brief hours at his apartment when all of the lies, his lies and Peter's, were revealed, when they became friends again. And that final moment on a dark and quiet suburban street; Peter’s face as close as a thought. Shock, relief, wonder, joy.
Whatever happened to him, he’d take those images with him to his grave.
His skin nudged him, tucked its head under his palm, like a cat seeking a caress, or Satchmo when he was in a needy mood.
The sound of helicopter rotors interrupted his thoughts and Neal stood up. The chopper, NYPD by its markings, was flying low and in a search pattern. He held the skin over his groin and waved with the other arm. They must have spotted him, because the chopper changed direction and swung over to the island. Neal covered his face to keep the sand and grit out of his eyes as it landed on the grassy rise above the shoreline.
He squinted against the whirlwind and was surprised to see Diana jump out and run down to him.
“Caffrey – you’re alive!” She hugged him and then pulled back. “And you’re naked!”
He grinned. His face hurt but he grinned like an idiot. “Yeah, I am alive.”
“Where the hell are your clothes?”
“I stripped – I didn’t want to drown.” It was a convenient lie, and would have been the truth if he hadn’t turned into a seal.
One of the chopper’s crew members came down to the beach with a thermal blanket and Neal gratefully wrapped it around himself.
“Can you walk up to the helicopter? Do you want us to bring down a gurney?” The woman shouted at him.
He looked at the rocky beach, his bare feet and the rocks he’d need to climb. He was exhausted past the point of pride. “That would be nice.”
Diana rubbed her eyes. “I thought you were dead. We’ve been circling for hours.”
“Did you …” Neal hated to ask. “Did you find Keller?”
“We found an arm. It may be his.”
His little game of brinksmanship with the propellers was paying off.
“But how did you get here?” Diana had to ask.
“I’m a strong swimmer.”
The look on her face all but called him a liar.
“Come on, Di. How do you think I got here? There was a rip current last night – it pulled me out into the bay as soon as I fell into the water. Best course of action is not to fight the current, to swim across. How else would I have gotten here?” He put on his most honest, trustworthy face.
“I don’t know, Caffrey –”
He changed the subject. “How’s Elizabeth?”
“She seemed all right, other than what Keller did to her. Peter went with her to the hospital.”
Neal sent up a small prayer.
“But what happened? What did Keller do?”
“Di – should I tell you, or should I wait for an official debrief?”
She didn’t answer him at first. “Wait. You’d better wait.”
“For both our sakes…I don’t want you to have to testify about what I said.”
“You’re way too devious, Caffrey.”
“No, Diana – I’m just always thinking.”
The crew came back with the gurney and Neal let them strap him in. Him and his skin.
It was too noisy to talk on the flight to the hospital – the crew wouldn’t give him a headset. When they landed and transferred him to the hospital’s gurney, someone tried to take the skin.
“No, don’t.” He pulled it back, afraid that it would get vicious, like it did with Keller. That could raise all sorts of interesting problems. He called to Diana.
“What’s the matter, Neal?”
“I need you to take this.” He thrust the unanimated skin at her.
“Ewww – this is gross. Why are you giving me a dead animal?”
“Diana, please.” Neal begged. “Take it, give it to Peter. Whatever you do, don’t lose it.”
She picked up on his urgency and stuck two fingers through the eye sockets, holding it at arm’s length. Neal tried not to wince.
“Find Peter, give it to him. Please, it’s vital.”
“Caffrey, you’ve spent too much time in the sun, or maybe you’ve got salt water poisoning. But I’ll give it to Peter as soon as I can.”
They were wheeling him to the elevator. “Don’t lose it.” He watched as she draped it over her shoulder and pulled out her phone. The skin’s head looked up at him once and then fell back, flat and lifeless.
“We have him, Boss.”
Peter was almost dizzy with relief.
“Where?”
“He said a rip current took him out into the bay. We found him on Hart Island. Sitting on the beach in his birthday suit and a sunburn, without a care in the world.”
“Neal’s a strong swimmer. What about Keller?”
He breathed a silent prayer when she told him about the arm they recovered. “What’s your ETA?”
“Zero – we landed and they took Neal down to Emergency.”
Peter looked through the doorway, at Elizabeth and the doctor. He couldn’t leave, not just yet. “Can you go and stay with Neal?”
“I’ve got to give you something first, where can I meet you?”
He had no clue what that could be, but he told her what floor they were on and El’s room number.
“I’ll be there in five.”
He went back into the room; the doctor had the x-ray on the light board. Even to his untrained eyes, the multiple dark spots didn’t look good.
“Your wife has a comminuted fracture, we’ll have to operate.”
“When?”
“I was just checking with the rest of my surgical team. We can put her wrist into a temporary cast and take her down tomorrow, or we can operate now. I understand that she’s been through a lot of trauma over the past twenty-four hours, but given the severity of the fracture it may not be in her best interest to wait.”
Peter brushed the hair away from Elizabeth brow, she was falling asleep, thankfully.
“If she waits, what are the risks?”
“Clotting, swelling, further shifting on the bones. We can immobilize her and do pain management if you want to wait.”
“El?” Peter hated to wake her, but he had to.
She opened her eyes. “They want to operate on your hand now, is that okay?”
“Yes.” And she promptly dropped back to sleep.
The doctor made a few more notes, told them that the prep team would be in within the half hour and left.
Peter didn’t think he had ever been so tired in his life. He held El’s hand – the uninjured one – and closed his eyes. The past twenty-four hours were going to haunt him forever.
A soft voice woke him. “Peter?”
He looked up. It was Diana, and she was carrying Neal’s skin – of all things.
It took far too much effort, but Peter stood up and walked into the hallway.
“Neal’s okay?”
“Yeah, surprisingly so. He told me to give you this.” She all but dumped the skin into his arms. “What the hell is it?”
Peter didn’t want to even try and explain. “Trust me, Di – you don’t want to know.”
“Caffrey was adamant that I shouldn’t lose it. Frankly, it should be dropped in the nearest incinerator. It’s disgusting.”
Peter gently stroked the skin, a small, soothing movement that Diana wouldn’t see. He didn’t know for sure, but he suspected that her harsh words hurt it’s … well, feelings.
“Clinton’s retrieved the treasure – it’s in secure storage at the Federal Building.”
Peter blinked. “You know, with everything, I forgot about it. I can’t believe I forgot about it.”
“Frankly, I was stunned when Jones reported in. We left Moz and the truck up the block from Keller’s house.”
“And he didn’t just drive off with it?”
“Nope, the little guy was sitting on the back bumper, just waiting. Funny, a lot like the way we found Neal. I wonder what they’re up to?”
Peter knew that Neal, at least, wasn’t up to anything. He couldn’t say the same for Moz. But that was something to be sorted out later.
“Go home, Di. Get some sleep. We’re all going to have busy days ahead of us.”
“Yeah, that’s for sure.”
“And, Di…” He called after her.
“What, boss?”
“Thanks, for everything.”
“I’d do it again – no questions asked.”
What a cluster fuck.
Hughes ground his teeth in painful frustration. His best agents were going to get strung up by their thumbs for this night’s work. The only saving grace was Elizabeth Burke’s recovery.
Peter did everything wrong and yet … the outcome was better than anyone could have hoped. He had learned, to his deepest regret, that Matthew Keller was a conscienceless murderer who would have killed Peter’s wife even if he had gotten what he wanted.
And that was the sticking point, no one really knew what his demands were. No one except Peter and probably Caffrey.
Who was another problem.
He thought for certain that Caffrey was gone for good. When Diana had called in with the news that they found him, he almost didn’t believe her. Back on City Island, when he found Peter and Elizabeth on that dock, no sign of either Keller or Caffrey, for a moment he actually thought the two men had planned the whole thing.
But as quickly as that thought occurred, he dismissed it. Not only was it inconceivable that Neal would be part of anything that would put Elizabeth Burke in harm’s way, Elizabeth herself said that Caffrey saved her life and fell into the water fighting with Keller. And a truck filled with the missing U-boat treasure was found abandoned a few hundred yards from the house.
Neal wasn’t given the same courtesy as Elizabeth Burke. He was kept in a small curtained area off the main section of the ER, heavily guarded by U.S. Marshals. He flashed his badge and asked them to step away for a few minutes.
Despite the sunburn, the salt-stiffened hair and well-worn hospital gown, the IVs and monitors, the shackle chaining him to the bed, Caffrey was, well, Caffrey. Lying there like he didn’t have a care in the world.
The little bastard grinned at him. “Agent Hughes, so good of you to come check on me.”
“Can it, Caffrey.”
Neal dropped the smile and his exhaustion was obvious. “What now, sir.”
That’s better. “You should go back to prison for your stunt last night. Or get a commendation. I can’t decide which.”
“I’ll tell you everything.”
“No, Caffrey – you won’t. You’ll get a lawyer and keep your mouth shut until it’s time to testify at the Morrissey hearing that the brass is going to insist on. You’re going to go back to your apartment and you’re going to stay there. You’re not going to discuss anything with Peter or Berrigan or Jones. You’re going to be on your very best behavior.”
He had the grace to look cowed, but Hughes didn’t buy it at all.
“You are going to need to be prepared to answer questions about collusion with Matthew Keller.”
“Collusion? How could anyone think that?” Caffrey’s shock was authentic.
“You knew where to find him, that’s why.” Damn – he shouldn’t be telling him this.
But all Neal did was laugh. “That’s all? I know quite a few of Keller’s aliases. When Peter sent me home, I hacked into the city’s deed title database. The house on City Island was the most likely property. I contacted Peter and told him.”
“Peter should have told us, we would have …”
“You would have gotten Elizabeth killed. The minute Keller got any hint of an attack, he would have killed her. He killed his guards because he thought they betrayed him.”
“Neal – enough.” Peter walked in. “Sir, do you think it appropriate to question Neal like this?”
Hughes shook his head. “You shouldn’t be here, Peter.”
“They’ve taken Elizabeth into surgery.”
“That’s not what I mean. Your career is on very thin ice – Caffrey’s involvement in your wife’s kidnapping is suspect. He broke out of his tracker.”
“No, he didn’t.” He should have been surprised, shocked even when Peter pulled the anklet out of his pocket. “I took it off Neal.”
“Peter, don’t.” Neal actually tried to shut Peter up.
“Neal.” It was interesting how Peter said Caffrey’s name, and how Caffrey reacted. All the fight went out of the young man.
This was a mess – a tangled mess of lies and misdirection and Reese wasn’t sure if anything was salvageable. He did the only thing he could at the moment. He held out his hand. “The key?”
Peter took it off his keyring and handed it over. Hughes unlocked the shackle and replaced it with the tracker.
“I’m trusting both of you. Don’t make me regret it.”
Coming back to his apartment was like stepping back in time, especially when he found Mozzie dozing on his couch, a half empty glass of wine and his last bottle of Barolo on the coffee table. He closed the door as quietly as he could, no need to wake Moz. Especially since all Neal wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for the rest of the year.
But he wasn’t quiet enough, or Moz really wasn’t asleep. He was halfway to his bedroom when Moz sat up and scrubbed at his face – stopping with an ouch as his rings snagged on the scabs.
“Hey, Neal.”
“Hey, Moz.”
It was as neutral an exchange as they ever had. Neal changed out of the hospital scrubs he’d been given into a pair of sweatpants and a clean tee shirt. He thought longingly of a hot shower, but made himself a cup of coffee instead. It was going to be a while before he’d get any sleep.
“Want one?”
“Nah, I’m good.” Moz drank the rest of the wine in one gulp and Neal winced.
The silence in the room, broken only by the sound of the coffee machine, became oppressive. Neal couldn’t let this go on any longer.
“Look, Moz – I’m …”
But Moz beat him to it. “Neal, I’m sorry”
“So am I – for everything.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Neal sat across from the man he still considered his closest friend. “Are you okay?” His gaze took in the narrow scabs on Moz’s face. He was sickedn by the memory of what he had done.
“Yeah – they’ll heal by the end of the week.” Moz scratched at the one on his chest.
“If you don’t pick at them.” Neal hoped a little humor would help.
“Don’t be disgusting.” Moz smiled, but then turned serious. “Look – I’m really sorry – for everything.”
“It’s okay, Moz. I understand.”
“I lied about your skin, I needed to be persuaded to give up the treasure.” The last ended on a sob.
He moved over to the couch and wrapped an arm around Moz. “Shh, shh.” Neal pressed a soft kiss on that bald pate. “It’s over, it’s all right. Everyone’s safe.”
“But …” Moz sniffled and dragged a sleeve across his nose.
“But nothing, Moz. We’ve all got what we wanted.” Neal paused. “Well, all except you. I’m sorry that you lost the treasure.”
“It’s okay. I don’t think it was meant to be.”
There was something in Mozzie’s voice that set off warning bells.
“Moz?”
“Well, you still have The Masked Dancers.”
“Yes, that I do. But it’s not going anywhere.” Neal still had to figure out what he was going to do with the painting. “There’s something else you’re not telling me.”
Moz reached down and hefted a box up and onto the table. “Here, this is your share.”
The box was too small, too heavy. Neal immediately knew what it contained. He grinned. “You – you ... ”
A chuckle erupted from Moz. “Consider it an early birthday present, mon frère.” He turned serious. “What happened to Keller?”
“The less you know about that, the better.”
“He’s not coming back, I presume.”
“You presume correctly.”
Moz stood up and patted Neal on the shoulder. “Good job – but I don’t owe you the six million, you know.”
“That never occurred to me.”
“No, I don’t suppose it would have. El and Peter?”
“She’s in rough shape, and they needed to operate to repair the bones Keller broke. Peter hasn’t left her side.”
“Do you think I’ll be able to get in to see her? I owe her an apology.” For what, he left that unsaid.
“Wait a few days – I think she’ll be happy to see you.
“Yeah, that’s probably for the best.” Moz paused, but didn’t look at him. “What about you – your ‘deal’?”
“There’ll be a hearing – there’s a risk I’ll lose my probation.” He shrugged.
“You seem way too sanguine about that.”
“Que sera, sera. There is no crime they can charge me with, except for breaking FBI procedure. I can do the rest of my time if I have to.”
“You’re staying because of the Suit.”
“And Elizabeth. I love them, Moz. And I’m staying for you, and Sara and everyone else – you all matter too much to me. Do you know what Keller said to me – when he found me at Raquel LaRoque’s? He said, ‘Congratulations, you have friends.’ As if that was a bad thing.”
Moz opened the door. “Friends – yeah. Not a bad thing to have after all.” He pointed his chin at the box. “Best put that away before your other friends come calling.”
The door closed softly behind him and Neal took a sip of his coffee. It was perfectly, deliciously mundane. He opened the box. Nestled in a bed of wood shavings were three gold bars, the assay marks (which probably featured a Third Reich insignia) carefully hammered out. He took them into the closet. The space where he kept his knives and the stolen scarab was a perfect hiding place.
After a while, he might even forget they were there.
Elizabeth was discharged from the hospital two days after her surgery, a full day after Neal was released. The bruises on her face had turned purple and green and yellow and Peter found himself entertaining revenge fantasies. They were vivid.
And pointless. Matthew Keller was dead.
The arm that was found was positively identified from the fingerprints, and the coroner stated that the detachment was postmortem, likely cut from the body by a boat propeller. The Coast Guard was watching for remaining body parts, but the prevailing rip currents meant that it could wash ashore anywhere from Connecticut to the tip of Long Island.
El was tucked into the car, and Peter had just pulled out of the hospital garage when she said with abrupt finality. “I don’t want to go home.”
“Hon?”
“I can’t go home. Not yet. I just can’t.” She wasn’t hysterical, just adamant. Peter understood.
“Where do you want to go? A hotel?”
“No, I want to go to Neal’s. Only good things happen there.” When he didn’t answer right away, El whispered, “Please.”
Peter didn’t think twice about it. Whatever Elizabeth wanted, he was going to give to her. He didn’t care that the higher-ups would be troubled by this. He hadn’t been expressly prohibited from talking to Neal, but they’d undoubtedly frown on any extended contact between them.
Fuck them all. If El wanted to be at Neal’s, with Neal, that’s where they were going.
There was a convenient parking spot in front of June’s and Peter helped Elizabeth out of the car. “You okay?”
She gave him a wry smile. “I’ve been better, but I’ve been worse too. I’m just tired”
Peter went to shut the car door, but El stopped him. “I need that – can you get it for me?” She was looking at the skin draped across the back seat. It lifted its head, acknowledging their attention.
He reached into the car and the skin draped itself over his arm, then flowed over to Elizabeth. Elizabeth’s insistence on keeping the skin with her in the hospital had disturbed the nurses.
June’s housekeeper, Magda, let them in and El asked if Neal was home. Peter hadn’t told her that Neal’s radius had been reduced to the dimensions of the mansion.
“Mr. Neal is in his apartment. Mr. Moz isn’t here, though.”
Peter was relieved.
They were about to take the stairs, but Magda took one look at El’s face and her cast and led them to the back of the house. “You take the service elevator.”
The ride was creaky, and it would have taken less time to climb the stairs, but Elizabeth was so clearly at the end of her reserves. The door opened into a short hallway – Neal’s vast closet on the right, the bathroom on the left and the apartment directly ahead. He knocked once, listened for any movement, and knocked again.
El leaned against him, the skin wriggling under her chin. Despite the warmth, she rubbed her face against the fur. Peter thought the connection between his wife and this creature, this part of Neal, was so intensely intimate. But it didn’t bother him at all. It felt … right.
Peter was about to knock for a third time when the door opened. Neal was bare-chested, sleep disheveled, his face full of pillow creases. He never looked more perfect.
Neal pulled a pillow over his head, blocking out the light. He’d been trying to sleep since Moz left yesterday, but his brain wouldn’t turn off. No matter how much wine he drank, he couldn’t get the image of Keller’s face as he punctured his heart out of his mind. It was quiet, too quiet, and all he could think about was that he’d killed a man. Yes, in self-defense, in defense of someone he loved, but it was still a death. Not his first, but hopefully his last.
He rolled over, trying to find a comfortable spot but the bed was too warm, too cold, too … much.
Just as he started to sink into an uneasy sleep, a knock on the door brought him back to full wakefulness. Neal wasn’t sure he wanted to answer it. Moz would have been a little more creative in his knocking, if he even bothered. June was away – she had been for this entire debacle. That left the staff, who knew better than to bother him, and Peter. There was a second knock; Neal got up and pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms.
He opened the door to find Peter and Elizabeth – and his skin – on his threshold. Neal stepped aside to let them in, a million questions crowding his brain but he could only ask the most obvious.
“El, how are you?” She looked so fragile – if anything, worse than when he first saw her locked in that room.
“Alive, thanks to you.” She went from Peter’s side to his, wrapping her arms around him. Neal held her gently, she felt like she was about to break. He looked over to Peter, but he couldn’t read his expression.
He took refuge in politeness. “Can I get you anything?”
El nodded against his chest. “Your bed – I need to lie down.”
“Okay …” Neal didn’t know what to do, but at least Peter mouthed, please, let her. He directed Elizabeth to the couch. “Just sit down, let me change the sheets.”
“No, it’s fine the way it is.” She walked past him, a little unsteady as she toed off her shoes before climbing onto the mattress.
Peter went to the bed and helped her off with her street clothes. Neal looked away, embarrassed by the intimacy, and then grateful for something to do when Peter asked him for a glass of water, Elizabeth needed to take a pain killer.
Neal rushed to comply and turned his back again as Peter settled his wife. He heard their quiet conversation, which was somehow even more intimate. He was about to go onto the terrace, giving them absolute privacy, when he stopped, shocked. Peter had tucked his nearly naked wife into his bed with his skin.
He stood there, rattled and more than a little frightened.
Peter looked up, and Neal was reminded of a great cat – a lion protecting his pride. He pressed a gentle kiss against El’s forehead and left her asleep in his bed. Peter went out to the terrace and Neal followed, as helpless as a lodestone against magnetic north.
“What’s going on?”
“She didn’t want to go home. She wanted to come here – I’m sorry.”
Neal understood with terrible, painful clarity. “Don’t apologize. What can I do?”
“Just let her sleep. The painkillers are knocking her out, and sleep will help her heal.”
Neal shook his head at the irony. He hadn’t slept since he got home, and from the grey-tinged complexion, it looked like Peter hadn’t either.
“Why here, though?”
“She said that nothing bad ever happened to her here. That this was a place where only good things happened.” Peter sounded like he was on the verge of tears. “It’s true – our anniversary, our second wedding – hell, El came here and asked you to rescue me from Fowler.” Peter scrubbed his face.
“I’d forgotten about that. Seems like that was part of another life. A different set of people. A different us.”
“Really? Are we that different now?”
Neal sighed, this was all still so difficult. “It seems that way. Sometimes if feels like those early days are as distant as centuries. We trusted each other more.”
“That’s my fault.”
“Not all of it. And we’ve already done this round.”
“Yeah.”
They sat there, quiet under the afternoon sun. Peter opened his mouth to say something but closed it again.
“What?”
“Never mind.”
“No, you were about to say something.”
Peter fumbled through the words. “I – I wanted to know what it was like – being a selkie again.”
“I can’t describe it. Those first moments in the water. It was like …” Neal felt himself blushing.
“Like what?”
“Orgasm.” Neal was blunt and had no sympathy for Peter’s slightly shocked expression. “Well, you asked. Or like coming home after an endless journey. It was perfection, better than my memories.”
“Then why did you go ashore on Hart. Why didn’t you just keep going?”
“Because I promised Elizabeth I’d come back, because I promised you that, too. Because I love you.” Saying it now, under the bright blue sky, when there were no shadows to hide in was the bravest thing he’d ever done. “Before I got word that Keller had taken Elizabeth, Moz gave me an ultimatum. ‘Stay or go.’ I chose to stay.” Neal couldn’t help but laugh at the memory. “I thought how wonderful it would be to stay and watch over you and El as you grew old. How I’d take care of you.”
Peter snorted at that. “Neal, you can barely take care of yourself.”
He wasn’t insulted. “That’s what I’d like you to think. I’ve been on my own for centuries.”
Peter just gave him that look, an eyebrow arched and a smirk on his lips. It warmed him to the bone.
“I had hopes of eventually being invited to your Friday night poker games.” That seemed so silly now.
But Peter didn’t think so. “Maybe, the thought of inviting you had crossed my mind.”
“Really?” Neal felt like he was back at that moment when Peter called them partners.
“Hmmm.”
They fell back into silence. A pigeon landed on the stone merlon, cooing and fluttering before taking off again.
“What happens now?”
“I don’t know. There are going to ramifications, repercussions. Diana, Clinton and I are going to face the Disciplinary Board.” Peter didn’t say anything about what could happen to him. That was off limits.
“That’s not what I meant, you know.”
“Yeah, I do.”
“I don’t want to leave, no matter what happens. I’ve let so much slip through my fingers, simply because I never had anything I truly wanted to hold on to. But you and Elizabeth, I can’t let you go. Four years, forty or four hundred, you’re all I will ever need.” Neal blinked, it could have been the bright sun or the tears gathering in his throat.
“The other night, I said you weren’t alone your feelings. I love you too, I’ve loved you for a very long time. Well, long according to my lifespan.” Peter licked his lips, and Neal wondered why he was nervous – wasn’t everything out in the open? “There’s something you need to know. Something I have to tell you.”
Those words sparked a memory. “Haven’t we had this conversation?”
Peter must have remembered, too. “Not this one.” But it wasn’t something bad, Peter was wearing that beloved half-smile. “Remember the day I arrested you?”
“How could I forget? It may have been the finest moment of your career, but it didn’t rank too high on mine.”
“You held out your hand. I took it.”
Neal understood just what Peter was saying. “What did you see, Agent Burke?”
“Us. The three of us. Happy. Together.”
Neal held out his hand, frightened and elated. “And now, what do you see?”
Peter’s palm, rough with gun calluses, slid across his hand, intimate and familiar. Neal watched as a smile curved Peter’s lips and happiness rose like the sun. There was no need for Peter to answer.
Tags:
- character: clinton jones,
- character: diana berrigan,
- character: elizabeth burke,
- character: kimberly rice,
- character: matthew keller,
- character: mozzie,
- character: neal caffrey,
- character: peter burke,
- character: reese hughes,
- genre: alternative universe,
- genre: angst,
- genre: episode tag,
- genre: pre-ot3,
- genre: romance,
- genre: transformation,
- type: fan fiction,
- type: longfic,
- white collar,
- written for: a/u bingo,
- written for: polyamory big bang,
- year: 2012
