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elrhiarhodanTitle: It’s Life That Just Sharpens the Blade – A Wonder(ful) Years Timestamp – Part 1 of 3
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Art Credit:kanarek13
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey (Peter/Neal), OMC, OFC, Jack Franklin, Reese Hughes, AD Bancroft
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Violent expressions of homophobia (this part only)
Word Count: ~21,000 (~6,000 this part)
Beta Credit:coffeethyme4me, jrosemary
Summary: Set immediately after Neal’s graduation from Quantico (the story told in For the Ends of Being and Ideal Grace). Neal’s first days on the job at the White Collar division in New York are difficult. Life at home isn’t easy either.
__________________
“You know that we’re going to have to be very careful at work.” Neal was sitting on the bed, wrapped in one of the hotel’s fluffy terry cloth robes and looking more like jailbait than a newly minted FBI agent.
Peter shoved the last of his clothes into his suitcase and zipped it shut. “I’m not sure that pretending we aren’t close friends is really the best approach. Hughes already knows and he doesn’t have a problem with it.”
“It’s not Agent Hughes I’m worried about – it’s how that friendship is going to affect our careers. Don’t you think it’ll be kind of weird to have everyone know that your best friend is working in the same office?”
Peter had to smile, the idea was still so unexpected, but he could see the pitfalls – particularly for Neal. “You want to stand on your own.”
“Yeah.” Neal got up and started to dress. He had packed while Peter had showered.
Peter leered at his ass and wondered if they had time for a quickie before checking out.
Neal must have read his mind. “You are such a goat, Peter Burke.”
He laughed. “Poor baby, you too sore?” They had gone through nearly all of the condoms and lube in the last thirty-six hours.
“No, well, yes – but we don’t have time.” Neal shoved his hands in his pockets, looked around the rooms, and gave him a panicked look. “My cufflinks – do you know what happened to them?”
Peter unzipped his luggage and took out his suit jacket. He dug them and Neal’s tie bar from his pocket. “Here, I took them off when we first got to the room, when I …”
“When you seduced me with poetry.”
Peter blushed; he still couldn’t believe that of himself. For the ends of Being and ideal Grace…
Neal kissed him on the lips, a gentle and loving caress. “I will never, ever forget that. It was the most perfect thing.”
“Hmm, well …” Peter all but scuffed his feet on the carpet, proud and still embarrassed. “Can’t believe you’re wearing a suit – it’s Sunday.” He had to change the subject.
Neal put on the cufflinks and affixed his tie bar. “After five months of living in badly fitted khakis and Academy sweatshirts, I may never wear anything else.” He checked himself out in the mirror and frowned.
“What’s the matter?”
Neal tugged at his jacket, trying to smooth and straighten the fabric. “Going to have to get to my tailor – this doesn’t fit quite right. It’s snug across the shoulders and a little loose at the waist.”
Peter stood behind him, letting his hands run over the parts in question. “Not surprising, really. You’ve filled out, toned up. Looks good.” He kissed Neal just below his earlobe. “Mmmm.”
Neal stepped out of his arms. “We don’t have time for that now.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Love how you’ve become Mr. Responsibility.”
“I’m an FBI agent now.” Neal actually flashed his badge. “I’ll have you arrested if you make us miss our train.”
“Oooh, I’m so scared. Please don’t hurt me.” Peter held up his hands in mock surrender.
Neal smirked. “Just you wait until we get home, I’ll teach you about being scared.”
“Can’t wait.”
“Well, you’re going to have to.” Neal picked up his duffle bag.
Peter did the same and kept his eyes glued to Neal’s ass as he walked out the door. He hadn’t thought it was possible, but that ass was even better looking now.
Yeah, he was such a goat.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
They made it to Union Station with plenty of time to spare. The train was mostly empty and they took seats facing each other. Neal wanted to spend the time looking at Peter’s face. He had missed it so damn much, and having a few hours to just gaze at it without interference was pure pleasure.
“Looking forward to getting home?”
Peter’s question burst his warm bubble of contentment. “I’m looking forward to being together again, sharing a bed with you, if that’s what you’re asking.” But he knew that wasn’t really the question.
“Ah.”
“Ah, yes.” Neal echoed. “Home, a third floor walk-up where the walls are as thin as tissue, the toilet keeps backing up, and the vermin that are impossible to keep out. Then there’s the added bonus of the neighbors who look at us like we’re worse than the vermin.” He couldn’t stop himself. “Home for us could be a four-bedroom, four-bathroom duplex apartment in a prewar building on the Upper West Side, overlooking the park. One that has all the amenities a man could want: a modern kitchen, beautiful and updated bathrooms, a paneled library, stone fireplaces in the bedrooms, all of the original woodwork, plus a courteous doorman who’ll deliver the New York Times to our door every morning. The neighbors won’t care about us, or even better, they’ll be like us.”
“Neal – ”
He hadn’t intended on pressing the issue now, but delaying wouldn’t make things any better. “Peter, we have to talk about this.”
Peter’s face got that closed off look, so typical when he was annoyed. “You know the reasons why I don’t want to move.”
“And I don’t agree with them.” Neal sighed, they were going to go around and around again, just like they did before he left for Quantico.
The conversation was delayed and before Neal realized it, he had left for Quantico and nothing was settled. Now, it was more than five months later and they still hadn’t come to an agreement.
“Peter, what are you afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid.”
“You didn’t have this problem when I bought the house in Cambridge.”
“That was different. Besides, I paid the market rate for the rent into the mortgage. I could afford that.”
“And when I sold the place, I gave that money back to you.” The property had been snatched up by a developer who bought it for twice the original purchase price. Peter hadn’t been happy, but he hadn’t been as stubborn either. The money went a long way to paying off the student loans his parents had taken out to cover what his scholarship didn’t.
The day that started off so promising had turned gray and rainy. Much like his mood. Peter opened the Sunday Times magazine section and started doing the crossword, deliberately ignoring Neal.
“Avoiding this isn’t going to solve anything.”
Peter looked up. “I don’t want to move into Manhattan. I can’t afford it.”
And what I want doesn’t count? Instead of talking about his feelings, he threw oil on the fire. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“What’s so ridiculous about not wanting to live outside my means? The amount of work I do equals certain things in the real world. Which doesn’t include a four-bedroom duplex in a neighborhood where I can barely afford the price of a cup of coffee.”
“But it’s not …”
Peter held up a hand, cutting him off. “It is.”
Neal sat back, infinitely hurt but determined not to let it show. “All right. You’re more important to me than anything.”
Peter didn’t gloat; he just reached out and squeezed his hand. “Thanks – thank you for understanding.”
The train swayed against a curve and Peter let go, choosing to focus on his crossword puzzle, apparently content that the matter was closed.
Neal thought it would be so much easier if they could be married. Peter would be entitled to half of everything. But they were two guys and that was never going to happen.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
“Hello, gorgeous!” Amy Grainger, who occupied the desk opposite Peter’s, actually licked her lips. “Mmmm, I’d like to have some of that.”
Peter followed her line of sight, and yes, there was an absolutely gorgeous man standing there. Tall and lean, with a bright gold shield clipped on his belt, Neal was wearing a suit that cost more than Peter’s take-home salary for a month. Even from this distance, it was possible to tell that even his haircut cost more than Peter probably spent at the barber in a year.
He looked back at his file. Pretending he didn’t recognize Neal was a lot harder than he thought it would be.
“Wonder who he is. A little young, though.” That didn’t seem to stop Amy from staring at the guy like she wanted to strip him naked and do him in public. Peter knew just how she felt.
Jack Franklin, who always seemed to have his fingers on the pulse of the entire office, enlightened Amy. “It’s the new probie, so hands off. At least for the first week.”
“What’s his name?” she asked.
“Neal Caffrey. Fresh out of Quantico. And by fresh, I mean that he just graduated last Friday.”
“Don’t think I’ve ever seen a probie look so – hmm – well put together?” She still didn’t take her eyes off Neal.
Peter gritted his teeth and tried to tune her out. He wasn’t jealous – he had no reason to be – but he didn’t like her talking about Neal like he was a piece of meat.
“He’s apparently major hot shit,” Jack commented. “Harvard undergrad and law school; did three years at Drake Morrissey in their white collar defense unit. A real up-and-comer, he even second-chaired on some pretty big cases. I heard he was slated for partner at least two years earlier than usual.” Franklin shook his head.
“And he left, what – a six-figure salary – to become an FBI agent?” Amy’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. She might be a man-eater, but she wasn’t stupid. “That doesn’t seem right.”
Franklin shrugged. “That’s what’s in his personnel file, and I know some guys who worked with him at Drake Morrissey. He was also top of his class at Quantico.” He turned to Peter with a smirk. “Beat your academic records. Looks like the White Collar division has a new golden boy.”
While it bothered him that Franklin had access to both his and Neal’s personnel files, Peter really didn’t care about his implications. He didn’t care about Grainger’s overactive sexuality. What he did care about was that Neal was here and that there was going to be a lot of scrutiny on him.
Hughes came down from his office to greet Neal, something that got raised eyebrows from all three agents. Hughes was their SAIC, and SAICs don’t get up and go greet the new probationary agents.
Peter again turned back to the file he was reviewing. They were still gathering evidence, still trying to put all the pieces together on this insider trading case. It was so much bigger than they first thought, with players all over the world. But it was slow going, the latest batch of documents they received was in Japanese, and Peter was waiting on the translations.
He managed to block out Jack and Amy’s chatter; they were still going on about the new probie. About Neal. Even though he was focused on the casework, he knew just the moment when Hughes brought Neal over to them.
“Burke, Grainger, Franklin – this is Neal Caffrey, he’s joining the unit.”
Peter finally looked up. Neal was wearing his “charmed and pleased” grin. The one that Peter knew was meaningless, as he held out his hand to both agents. Franklin didn’t quite give Neal the brush-off, since Hughes was standing there. And for the same reason, Amy dialed down her man-eater routine.
“I believe you know Agent Burke.”
Peter had been afraid of this, and there was nothing he could do about it now. But Neal played it cool.
“Good to see you, Peter.” Neal held out his hand to Peter, as if they hadn’t just spent the weekend in a hotel room in DC indulging in passionate reunion sex and then argued about their living accommodations on the train ride home. Peter shook it.
“Same here.”
Jack restated the obvious. “You two know each other?”
Neal answered, completely at ease, “We were at Harvard together, lived in the same house when I was in law school. What was it, about four years ago?”
Peter nodded in agreement, hoping he was as equally cool.
Grainger glared at Peter before turning to Neal. “We were just talking about you – and Peter here didn’t see fit to mention that.”
“Talking about me?” Neal shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. The look of surprise on his face as only partially feigned.
Amy must have realized she’d stepped in it, and tried to shift the blame. “Yes – Jack here seems to know all about you. He was eager to share.”
“Franklin?” Hughes’ tone was quiet, and Peter suddenly felt sorry for his colleague.
“Umm, yeah – I have a friend at Caffrey’s old firm. He may have mentioned that one of their rising stars had left to join the FBI and would probably end up here.” Jack’s smile was sickly and he didn’t convince anyone of anything.
Peter was half hoping Neal would eviscerate Franklin, but he didn’t, letting Hughes pull him over to another group of agents.
Jack drifted off, back to his own desk. Amy gave Peter a narrow-eyed stare, one that promised much pain if he didn’t give her something.
“We shared a house for a few years. Neal’s a nice guy.”
That seemed to satisfy her for the moment. “Didn’t see a wedding ring, do you know if he’s married?”
“Look, it’s been four years since I was in Boston.” Peter fiddled with the paperclips on his desk and forced himself to stop.
“So, you have no clue?”
Peter was saved from answering by the alert on his computer; it was time for the ten o’clock staff meeting.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Neal always loved first days: the first day back to school, the first day of work, the first day in a new apartment. It was the thrill of the unknown. When he had started at Drake Morrissey after law school, it wasn’t like this. He had clerked at the firm since the summer of his freshman year and knew everyone. His first day at Harvard was a little different. He’d been more excited about sharing a dorm room with Peter than his classes.
Today was the first day of all first days. Today was going to be the best first day of the rest of his life.
Peter had cautioned him, of course; he warned him against seeming too eager, too friendly, too helpful. The agents in the division were all seasoned veterans, good at what they did, but naturally suspicious of new faces. They were also territorial, ambitious, and could make his life a misery for no reason at all.
Still, Neal wasn’t put off. As long as Peter was there, as long as he had his back, there was nothing to worry about.
Except that a small voice kept whispering that Peter wasn’t going to be able to have his back. As far as anyone was concerned, they were acquaintances from their college years, long out of touch. It took some will, but Neal silenced that voice. No matter what, Peter wasn’t going to let anything bad happen to him, not if he could help it.
Besides, he was Neal George Caffrey and he could do anything he set his mind to doing.
Agent Hughes was surprisingly cordial. Neal hadn’t figured on the SAIC rolling out the red carpet for him and he wondered how well this was going to play out. He could see the speculation in some of the other agents’ eyes. He was going to have to watch his step with Jack Franklin – he said he had a friend at Drake Morrissey, but didn’t say who. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find out just who the agent talked to and what was said about him.
“You’ll join the ten o’clock staff meeting, Caffrey, and then you can get settled in.” Hughes tugged at his elbow, guiding him up to the conference room on the balcony level. The room was sizable, but there wasn’t a free chair except for the one at the head of the table. Neal knew better than to take that one. He made his way to the window ledge across the room from where Peter was sitting, grabbed one of the yellow legal pads, leaned against the wall and waited for the meeting to begin. If he was hoping for a reaction from Peter, he was disappointed.
Agent Hughes ran the meeting efficiently, calling on each agent to update the status of the current projects. He thoroughly grilled each of them – why were certain steps taken or not taken? No one was under heavy fire, but Hughes was pretty clear when he was disappointed. It was a familiar process, similar to the staff meetings that the partners ran at his old firm, but with a tighter focus.
Of course he paid attention to everyone, but when it was Peter’s turn, Neal found himself tense with expectation.
“Burke – where are you on Dihatsu Trading?”
Peter grimaced and Neal’s heart sank for him. “I’m still waiting for the translation of the purchase and sale orders. Language services won’t give me an ETA.”
Hughes shook his head. “Not good – we’re up against a statute of limitation problem. You’ll need to push harder. Go sit on them if you have to, I don’t want to hear any more excuses.”
Neal heard himself speak before he realized he was going to say anything. “I’m fluent in Japanese, maybe I can help?”
Peter didn’t look too happy about his offer. “Sir – I’ll lean on them to get it done. No need – ”
Hughes cut him off. “Burke, if Caffrey says he can help, let him help.” Peter nodded reluctantly and Hughes continued. “For those of you who weren’t around this morning, this is Neal Caffrey, my new probie.”
Neal gave a jaunty little wave and all of a sudden people were throwing coffee orders at him. He knew that the life of a probie was a lot of filing and fetching, but this was almost enough to make him regret leaving his law practice. Hughes, thankfully, cut off the agents’ demands.
“I said, Neal Caffrey is MY probie. He fetches coffee for me and only me. Got that? He is not the office gopher - we’ve got interns and clerks to help. Make use of them. And learn to get your own goddamned coffee.”
That shut everyone up but earned Neal quite a few stares - some overtly hostile, some merely speculative. He guessed that Agent Hughes had never been so possessive of a probationary agent before.
New assignments were handed out to agents, and to Neal’s shock, he was handed a folder.
“It’s a cold case, but let’s see what you’re made of, Caffrey. The translations for Burke are a priority, but I expect to see your analysis on this by close of business tomorrow.”
The agents filed out of the conference room, and Peter gave him a look that promised retribution when they got home. Neal mentally shrugged and peeked at the file - it looked like an index for a fairly large case - US v. Sullivan Savings & Loan. He swallowed, dismayed by the age of the file - it was dated 1989. This might be an impossible task - the S&L crisis of the late 1980s was becoming a distant memory.
“Problems?” Hughes’ question was not rhetorical.
“Not so far, but I’ll let you know if I’m conflicted out.”
“Good. Now get out and get to work.”
Neal went downstairs, to the desk he’d been assigned to. There was a thick file waiting for him with Peter’s distinctive handwriting on the attached note. “Don’t work on the originals - make copies. Burke.”
He didn’t know whether to be amused or worried. He decided on amusement. Peter was … Peter. He made copies and started translating. It was slow and tedious and he understood why Language Services weren’t too eager to get going on this. Many of the pages had handwritten notes, of course in Japanese, and it was the information in these addenda that could make or break the case.
He had finished the first fifteen pages when he noticed people getting up and heading out for lunch. He looked a little eagerly towards Peter’s desk, but he had already gotten up and was leaving with the two agents he’d been talking to when Hughes introduced him - Franklin and Grainger. They walked right by him without even an acknowledgement. Neal understood, but understanding didn’t make him feel any better about being ignored.
Another half hour of work and Neal decided to go grab a sandwich. He knew the area well enough to find a place – his old office was just a block over – but he still hated eating alone.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Peter came back from lunch with Jack and Amy - a thoroughly unenjoyable meal from Peter’s perspective - and found a stack of papers on his desk. The first portion of the translated orders from Dihatsu was finished and waiting for him. He looked over at Neal, who must have felt his gaze, because he looked up and their eyes met. Neal gave him a small, hopeful smile and Peter was taken back to the first day of seventh grade when he found Neal assigned to the seat next to him in Social Studies. He’d been so nervous and so determined not to show it - skipping sixth grade was a big deal.
Back then, Peter had smiled back, nodded and made sure that no one messed with Neal. Now, Neal could take care of himself, but he was still nervous and there was just as much at stake. He gave him a small smile and a nod of thanks and started to read the documents.
But he really wasn’t concentrating. Working with Neal was going to be so damn difficult. Having him right here, just a few feet away, and having to pretend that they were little more than acquaintances, was going to be torture. They had been apart for so long that even the weekend of sex, sex and more sex didn’t begin to make up for their long separation. Just gazing at Neal’s profile - pure and perfect - was enough to make him hard. It was like they were back in that hotel room and he was sinking balls-deep into Neal’s hot, slicked up ass, loving him, fucking him for the first time in five long, lonely months.
He shifted in his chair, a little uncomfortable.
“Ants in your pants?” Amy commented.
“Huh?”
“You’re squirming like my dog does when she’s got worms.”
Annoyed with himself, and just as annoyed with Amy and her foul mouth, he commented, “What are you, twelve?”
“No, but I see what’s going on.”
“And what does that mean.”
She sniffed and looked over at Neal. “You’re worried that the blue-eyed boy is going to blot out your rising star. Hughes is all over him and you’re going to find yourself on the road to Nowheresville.”
“I doubt that. He’s a probie on his first day.” Peter did allow just a hint of worry to creep into his reply.
Amy smirked. “Yeah, right and I know the scent of flop sweat when I smell it. I’ve been here eight years and seen probies come and go and not one of them had the red carpet rolled out like that.”
His desk phone rang and he turned his back to Amy before answering it. He’d been cultivating a disgruntled trader at Pederson Weller Kline, one of the brokerages at the center of the insider trading scheme he’d been working on, and the man sounded like he was ready to talk. He grabbed his jacket, pocketed his gold shield, and headed for the elevators. He passed Neal’s desk, aching to stop and say something, but he didn’t.
He couldn’t.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
It was close to six and Neal lingered at the office, alternating between the translations and reviewing the Sullivan S&L file, which wasn’t a typical collapse of a small thrift institution, but a complex fraud case.
Peter came back and left again, this time with Agent Franklin, and neither man had returned yet.
Involved in a translation of the extensive tegaki, handwritten Japanese, on one of the documents. Neal didn’t hear Hughes come down from his office.
“It’s your first day, Caffrey - you don’t have to burn the world down. Yet.”
Neal looked up and smiled. “Sorry, sir. Just involved in this. It’s fascinating. I may have found the smoking gun.”
Hughes raised a bushy and all too skeptical eyebrow. “Really? Your very first day, and you’ve found the one piece of information that’s eluded a dozen agents in all their months of investigation?”
Neal couldn’t stop a flush of embarrassment at the rebuke. But he stood by what he found. “Look at this, sir.” He pulled out one of the pages he’d finished. “This is an order to purchase a hundred thousand shares of Severid Systems, which was trading at 45 and 3/16th’s a share. The notes made by the trader on the order say ‘Per info from Tomo Takedo. Confirmed purchase on NASDAQ, plus instructions to sell on Friday, January 9 at 9:45 am.’ I checked, Tomo Takedo was the chairman of HonKai Chemicals, and Severid, a German chemical company, booked a high volume order with HonKai earlier that month. The deal was kept quiet until after their earnings report was released in Germany on afternoon of the 9th. Which would have been just as the markets opened in New York. Severid went up nineteen points on the news. The brokerage was trading on insider information.” He grabbed another page. “Here is the corresponding sale transaction - at 9:45 am on January 9th. They made a bundle. Can’t believe someone was so stupid to make notes like that.”
Hughes’ lips twitched. “Smoking gun, indeed. So much for starting out slowly, easing your way into the office. Good thing Burke’s your friend, otherwise he’d be mighty pissed that you picked this up.”
Neal hadn’t thought about that. “It’s still Peter’s case; I’m just translating the documents.”
Hughes’ stare was level, but Neal knew just what it meant. “Finish the translations; don’t worry about the report on the Sullivan case. It’s been cold for over half a decade, it can wait a few days or weeks. This …” He tapped the pile of papers. “Is your priority right now.” Hughes turned to leave.
“Um, sir?”
“Yes, Caffrey?”
“Will Peter –” He corrected himself. “Excuse me, Will Agent Burke be back tonight? I wanted to give him this.”
“Burke and Franklin were following up a lead on one for Franklin’s cases and it could be a few hours before they’re back. The morning is soon enough. You’ve done a good day’s work, so go home.”
Neal thought about waiting, but as the office emptied out, he figured it would be the worst kind of brown-nosing to hang around. He’d see Peter when he got home, anyway.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
It was weird taking the N train again, like nothing had changed. Except that everything had – he carrying a gun, not a briefcase. The weight of his firearm, the heft and bulk of it under his suit jacket, was novel, strange. He wondered if other passengers could see the bulge. Flexing his shoulders at the pull of the still unfamiliar shoulder rig, Neal winced at the jacket’s uncomfortable tightness. He needed to get to the tailor and figured he’d end up paying the man a bundle to see him on a Saturday. Neal could just imagine the expression on Hughes’ face if he asked for a long lunch break because he needed to get his suits fixed.
The train stopped at a dozen stations before coming to a halt one last time – his stop. Neal didn’t need to translate the incomprehensible announcement coming over the loudspeaker. It was early April, and at six-thirty, there was still an hour’s worth of daylight left. He enjoyed the walk to the apartment and was surprised to see a few kids around; someone had organized a game of stickball. Maybe the neighborhood wasn’t as bad as he remembered.
Neal stopped to watch the kids play and grinned as a boy hit the ball over the fielders’ heads. He ran as if his life depended on it. The ball came to rest on the sidewalk by his feet and a little kid – a boy maybe eight or nine came to fetch it. He vaguely recognized the child – he probably lived in the same building. “Hey, mister – can we have the ball back?”
Neal picked it up, tossed it to the kid, and was about to head into the apartment building when a man ran up to him, red-faced with anger and started shouting in his face.
“You – you faggot – you stay away from my kid!”
Shit. The boy was one of his neighbor’s and the guy was crazy. When they first moved in, he started in on Neal because he held the door open for his wife. At some point, he realized that he and Peter shared a one-bedroom apartment, and therefore were faggots. Yeah, they were, but that was no one’s business. And oddly enough, the son of a bitch never bothered Peter, just him.
Neal ignored him and continued up the front steps.
The man, ironically named Meeker, grabbed his arm. “Hey – I said – you stay away from my kid, pervert. I’ll call the cops if I see you near him again.”
Neal turned around. “Take your hand off me. I’m going to say for the very last time, I have no interest in your kids, in your wife, or you.” He shook himself free. “Now leave me alone.”
“I heard what you and that other fag got up to last night – you’re filth, a disgusting perverted piece of filth, and I’m going to make sure you go to straight to Hell.”
“I said, back off.” Neal was surprised when Meeker sneered and walked away, around the corner. He opened the outer door and fumbled for his keys to the security door, finally getting it opened. He heard the outer door open and turned around. Meeker had come back, a piece of iron rebar in his fist and murder in his eyes.
The space between the inner and outer door was small, but not small enough to keep Meeker from trying to bash his brains in. Neal pushed into the building’s inner lobby but was unable to prevent the man from following. He swung at Neal, missed and raised his arm to try again.
Neal reacted as his training taught him; he pulled his gun, flicked off the safety and hoped like hell he wasn’t going to have to shoot someone on his very first day as an FBI agent. Meeker stopped, the iron bar raised to deliver a killing blow.
“I will shoot you and I will kill you. So drop it, now.
Meeker’s ugly face curled into an even uglier snarl. “Little faggot is gonna need a bigger gun. You better learn to sleep with one eye opened, because I’m gonna end you.” He threw the rebar aside and screamed again, “I’m gonna end you.”
Neal holstered his gun, but left the safety off. “You’re making a mistake, Meeker. Just stay away from me.” He knew that reasoning with this guy was pointless, but he had to try. Instead of backing off, Meeker charged him. Neal punched him once in the belly and once across the face, a right hook to the jaw. Meeker crashed back into the door and collapsed; momentarily stunned. Neal took the opportunity to pick up the rebar that Meeker tossed aside, using a scrap of newspaper to keep his fingerprints off it.
Commonsense would have Neal handcuffing Meeker before calling 911, except that he didn’t have handcuffs. Probies were issued service weapons as part of their training, but they didn’t get the first pair of cuffs until after reporting to their first assignment. It would be a few weeks before he got his.
That didn’t help now, and Meeker wasn’t going to stay unconscious for long. Neal retreated up the stairs, to the apartment. Opening the four deadbolts wasn’t easy while watching out for a murderous assailant. Neal got inside, put the rebar on the kitchen counter and called the police to report the assault.
While he waited for the cops to arrive, Neal pulled out his suitcases and started packing. He’d stay until Peter came home, but he wasn’t going to spend another night here. His life was more important than Peter’s pride.
Part Two: LiveJournal | Dreamwidth
Author:
elrhiarhodanArt Credit:
kanarek13 Fandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey (Peter/Neal), OMC, OFC, Jack Franklin, Reese Hughes, AD Bancroft
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Violent expressions of homophobia (this part only)
Word Count: ~21,000 (~6,000 this part)
Beta Credit:
coffeethyme4me, jrosemary Summary: Set immediately after Neal’s graduation from Quantico (the story told in For the Ends of Being and Ideal Grace). Neal’s first days on the job at the White Collar division in New York are difficult. Life at home isn’t easy either.
“You know that we’re going to have to be very careful at work.” Neal was sitting on the bed, wrapped in one of the hotel’s fluffy terry cloth robes and looking more like jailbait than a newly minted FBI agent.
Peter shoved the last of his clothes into his suitcase and zipped it shut. “I’m not sure that pretending we aren’t close friends is really the best approach. Hughes already knows and he doesn’t have a problem with it.”
“It’s not Agent Hughes I’m worried about – it’s how that friendship is going to affect our careers. Don’t you think it’ll be kind of weird to have everyone know that your best friend is working in the same office?”
Peter had to smile, the idea was still so unexpected, but he could see the pitfalls – particularly for Neal. “You want to stand on your own.”
“Yeah.” Neal got up and started to dress. He had packed while Peter had showered.
Peter leered at his ass and wondered if they had time for a quickie before checking out.
Neal must have read his mind. “You are such a goat, Peter Burke.”
He laughed. “Poor baby, you too sore?” They had gone through nearly all of the condoms and lube in the last thirty-six hours.
“No, well, yes – but we don’t have time.” Neal shoved his hands in his pockets, looked around the rooms, and gave him a panicked look. “My cufflinks – do you know what happened to them?”
Peter unzipped his luggage and took out his suit jacket. He dug them and Neal’s tie bar from his pocket. “Here, I took them off when we first got to the room, when I …”
“When you seduced me with poetry.”
Peter blushed; he still couldn’t believe that of himself. For the ends of Being and ideal Grace…
Neal kissed him on the lips, a gentle and loving caress. “I will never, ever forget that. It was the most perfect thing.”
“Hmm, well …” Peter all but scuffed his feet on the carpet, proud and still embarrassed. “Can’t believe you’re wearing a suit – it’s Sunday.” He had to change the subject.
Neal put on the cufflinks and affixed his tie bar. “After five months of living in badly fitted khakis and Academy sweatshirts, I may never wear anything else.” He checked himself out in the mirror and frowned.
“What’s the matter?”
Neal tugged at his jacket, trying to smooth and straighten the fabric. “Going to have to get to my tailor – this doesn’t fit quite right. It’s snug across the shoulders and a little loose at the waist.”
Peter stood behind him, letting his hands run over the parts in question. “Not surprising, really. You’ve filled out, toned up. Looks good.” He kissed Neal just below his earlobe. “Mmmm.”
Neal stepped out of his arms. “We don’t have time for that now.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Love how you’ve become Mr. Responsibility.”
“I’m an FBI agent now.” Neal actually flashed his badge. “I’ll have you arrested if you make us miss our train.”
“Oooh, I’m so scared. Please don’t hurt me.” Peter held up his hands in mock surrender.
Neal smirked. “Just you wait until we get home, I’ll teach you about being scared.”
“Can’t wait.”
“Well, you’re going to have to.” Neal picked up his duffle bag.
Peter did the same and kept his eyes glued to Neal’s ass as he walked out the door. He hadn’t thought it was possible, but that ass was even better looking now.
Yeah, he was such a goat.
They made it to Union Station with plenty of time to spare. The train was mostly empty and they took seats facing each other. Neal wanted to spend the time looking at Peter’s face. He had missed it so damn much, and having a few hours to just gaze at it without interference was pure pleasure.
“Looking forward to getting home?”
Peter’s question burst his warm bubble of contentment. “I’m looking forward to being together again, sharing a bed with you, if that’s what you’re asking.” But he knew that wasn’t really the question.
“Ah.”
“Ah, yes.” Neal echoed. “Home, a third floor walk-up where the walls are as thin as tissue, the toilet keeps backing up, and the vermin that are impossible to keep out. Then there’s the added bonus of the neighbors who look at us like we’re worse than the vermin.” He couldn’t stop himself. “Home for us could be a four-bedroom, four-bathroom duplex apartment in a prewar building on the Upper West Side, overlooking the park. One that has all the amenities a man could want: a modern kitchen, beautiful and updated bathrooms, a paneled library, stone fireplaces in the bedrooms, all of the original woodwork, plus a courteous doorman who’ll deliver the New York Times to our door every morning. The neighbors won’t care about us, or even better, they’ll be like us.”
“Neal – ”
He hadn’t intended on pressing the issue now, but delaying wouldn’t make things any better. “Peter, we have to talk about this.”
Peter’s face got that closed off look, so typical when he was annoyed. “You know the reasons why I don’t want to move.”
“And I don’t agree with them.” Neal sighed, they were going to go around and around again, just like they did before he left for Quantico.
“I hate this place.” Neal looked around the shabby one-bedroom apartment.
“It’s not that bad, and it’s close to public transportation,” Peter defended.
A jet passed overhead; the roar of the engines was loud enough to set the glassware rattling. “Close to the airport, too, for that matter.”
“You really want to move into one of Adler’s properties?”
Enough time had passed that Neal no longer got that visceral, sickening reaction at the mention of his late and despised stepfather’s name. “I don’t get it – you were the one who initially pushed me to accept what Adler left me. And it’s not like the SOB ever lived there. It was an investment, one of many.” The Adler REIT owned over three dozen luxury apartments in Manhattan, and generated a significant amount of income for Neal. Not that he ever touched it. But money begat money - that was the way of the world. “Besides, wouldn't it be nice to live somewhere where you don’t have to worry about the neighbors hearing every move you make? Every time we have sex?”
Peter didn’t answer right away. “I don’t like the idea of living in a place I can’t afford.”
“What do you mean? There’s no mortgage to pay, just the monthly maintenance and the taxes. They won’t be much more than what we’re paying for this place.”
“You know what I mean.”
Neal got annoyed. “Actually, Peter, I don’t.”
“If you hadn’t inherited the property, we’d have to pay rent or take out a mortgage. I couldn’t afford my share.”
A sharp, stabbing pain erupted just over Neal’s right eye. He got it every damn time they had a conversation about money. “This isn’t like me wanting to buy you a decent car. This is us – where we live, our home. Our safe haven. This is our future. Is it so bad to want someplace nice? Someplace where we can shut out the world and be ourselves?”
“No, of course not.” But Neal could see that Peter wasn’t agreeing to move.
“I’ve lived here, with you, for almost three years. I don’t regret a moment of that time, but I feel like – like it’s an extension of our college life. Like I’m still waiting for something to begin.”
“Well, you are, aren’t you? You’ve been waiting to join the FBI since eleventh grade. Everything else has been just another step along the way to that goal.”
“And when I come back to New York, I want to be able to live a real life, in a real home.” Neal winced, he didn’t mean that the way it sounded.
“Do we have to do this now?”
“No, we don’t.” Neal dropped the subject, in deference to the hurt he could hear in Peter’s voice.
“It’s not that bad, and it’s close to public transportation,” Peter defended.
A jet passed overhead; the roar of the engines was loud enough to set the glassware rattling. “Close to the airport, too, for that matter.”
“You really want to move into one of Adler’s properties?”
Enough time had passed that Neal no longer got that visceral, sickening reaction at the mention of his late and despised stepfather’s name. “I don’t get it – you were the one who initially pushed me to accept what Adler left me. And it’s not like the SOB ever lived there. It was an investment, one of many.” The Adler REIT owned over three dozen luxury apartments in Manhattan, and generated a significant amount of income for Neal. Not that he ever touched it. But money begat money - that was the way of the world. “Besides, wouldn't it be nice to live somewhere where you don’t have to worry about the neighbors hearing every move you make? Every time we have sex?”
Peter didn’t answer right away. “I don’t like the idea of living in a place I can’t afford.”
“What do you mean? There’s no mortgage to pay, just the monthly maintenance and the taxes. They won’t be much more than what we’re paying for this place.”
“You know what I mean.”
Neal got annoyed. “Actually, Peter, I don’t.”
“If you hadn’t inherited the property, we’d have to pay rent or take out a mortgage. I couldn’t afford my share.”
A sharp, stabbing pain erupted just over Neal’s right eye. He got it every damn time they had a conversation about money. “This isn’t like me wanting to buy you a decent car. This is us – where we live, our home. Our safe haven. This is our future. Is it so bad to want someplace nice? Someplace where we can shut out the world and be ourselves?”
“No, of course not.” But Neal could see that Peter wasn’t agreeing to move.
“I’ve lived here, with you, for almost three years. I don’t regret a moment of that time, but I feel like – like it’s an extension of our college life. Like I’m still waiting for something to begin.”
“Well, you are, aren’t you? You’ve been waiting to join the FBI since eleventh grade. Everything else has been just another step along the way to that goal.”
“And when I come back to New York, I want to be able to live a real life, in a real home.” Neal winced, he didn’t mean that the way it sounded.
“Do we have to do this now?”
“No, we don’t.” Neal dropped the subject, in deference to the hurt he could hear in Peter’s voice.
The conversation was delayed and before Neal realized it, he had left for Quantico and nothing was settled. Now, it was more than five months later and they still hadn’t come to an agreement.
“Peter, what are you afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid.”
“You didn’t have this problem when I bought the house in Cambridge.”
“That was different. Besides, I paid the market rate for the rent into the mortgage. I could afford that.”
“And when I sold the place, I gave that money back to you.” The property had been snatched up by a developer who bought it for twice the original purchase price. Peter hadn’t been happy, but he hadn’t been as stubborn either. The money went a long way to paying off the student loans his parents had taken out to cover what his scholarship didn’t.
The day that started off so promising had turned gray and rainy. Much like his mood. Peter opened the Sunday Times magazine section and started doing the crossword, deliberately ignoring Neal.
“Avoiding this isn’t going to solve anything.”
Peter looked up. “I don’t want to move into Manhattan. I can’t afford it.”
And what I want doesn’t count? Instead of talking about his feelings, he threw oil on the fire. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“What’s so ridiculous about not wanting to live outside my means? The amount of work I do equals certain things in the real world. Which doesn’t include a four-bedroom duplex in a neighborhood where I can barely afford the price of a cup of coffee.”
“But it’s not …”
Peter held up a hand, cutting him off. “It is.”
Neal sat back, infinitely hurt but determined not to let it show. “All right. You’re more important to me than anything.”
Peter didn’t gloat; he just reached out and squeezed his hand. “Thanks – thank you for understanding.”
The train swayed against a curve and Peter let go, choosing to focus on his crossword puzzle, apparently content that the matter was closed.
Neal thought it would be so much easier if they could be married. Peter would be entitled to half of everything. But they were two guys and that was never going to happen.
“Hello, gorgeous!” Amy Grainger, who occupied the desk opposite Peter’s, actually licked her lips. “Mmmm, I’d like to have some of that.”
Peter followed her line of sight, and yes, there was an absolutely gorgeous man standing there. Tall and lean, with a bright gold shield clipped on his belt, Neal was wearing a suit that cost more than Peter’s take-home salary for a month. Even from this distance, it was possible to tell that even his haircut cost more than Peter probably spent at the barber in a year.
He looked back at his file. Pretending he didn’t recognize Neal was a lot harder than he thought it would be.
“Wonder who he is. A little young, though.” That didn’t seem to stop Amy from staring at the guy like she wanted to strip him naked and do him in public. Peter knew just how she felt.
Jack Franklin, who always seemed to have his fingers on the pulse of the entire office, enlightened Amy. “It’s the new probie, so hands off. At least for the first week.”
“What’s his name?” she asked.
“Neal Caffrey. Fresh out of Quantico. And by fresh, I mean that he just graduated last Friday.”
“Don’t think I’ve ever seen a probie look so – hmm – well put together?” She still didn’t take her eyes off Neal.
Peter gritted his teeth and tried to tune her out. He wasn’t jealous – he had no reason to be – but he didn’t like her talking about Neal like he was a piece of meat.
“He’s apparently major hot shit,” Jack commented. “Harvard undergrad and law school; did three years at Drake Morrissey in their white collar defense unit. A real up-and-comer, he even second-chaired on some pretty big cases. I heard he was slated for partner at least two years earlier than usual.” Franklin shook his head.
“And he left, what – a six-figure salary – to become an FBI agent?” Amy’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. She might be a man-eater, but she wasn’t stupid. “That doesn’t seem right.”
Franklin shrugged. “That’s what’s in his personnel file, and I know some guys who worked with him at Drake Morrissey. He was also top of his class at Quantico.” He turned to Peter with a smirk. “Beat your academic records. Looks like the White Collar division has a new golden boy.”
While it bothered him that Franklin had access to both his and Neal’s personnel files, Peter really didn’t care about his implications. He didn’t care about Grainger’s overactive sexuality. What he did care about was that Neal was here and that there was going to be a lot of scrutiny on him.
Hughes came down from his office to greet Neal, something that got raised eyebrows from all three agents. Hughes was their SAIC, and SAICs don’t get up and go greet the new probationary agents.
Peter again turned back to the file he was reviewing. They were still gathering evidence, still trying to put all the pieces together on this insider trading case. It was so much bigger than they first thought, with players all over the world. But it was slow going, the latest batch of documents they received was in Japanese, and Peter was waiting on the translations.
He managed to block out Jack and Amy’s chatter; they were still going on about the new probie. About Neal. Even though he was focused on the casework, he knew just the moment when Hughes brought Neal over to them.
“Burke, Grainger, Franklin – this is Neal Caffrey, he’s joining the unit.”
Peter finally looked up. Neal was wearing his “charmed and pleased” grin. The one that Peter knew was meaningless, as he held out his hand to both agents. Franklin didn’t quite give Neal the brush-off, since Hughes was standing there. And for the same reason, Amy dialed down her man-eater routine.
“I believe you know Agent Burke.”
Peter had been afraid of this, and there was nothing he could do about it now. But Neal played it cool.
“Good to see you, Peter.” Neal held out his hand to Peter, as if they hadn’t just spent the weekend in a hotel room in DC indulging in passionate reunion sex and then argued about their living accommodations on the train ride home. Peter shook it.
“Same here.”
Jack restated the obvious. “You two know each other?”
Neal answered, completely at ease, “We were at Harvard together, lived in the same house when I was in law school. What was it, about four years ago?”
Peter nodded in agreement, hoping he was as equally cool.
Grainger glared at Peter before turning to Neal. “We were just talking about you – and Peter here didn’t see fit to mention that.”
“Talking about me?” Neal shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. The look of surprise on his face as only partially feigned.
Amy must have realized she’d stepped in it, and tried to shift the blame. “Yes – Jack here seems to know all about you. He was eager to share.”
“Franklin?” Hughes’ tone was quiet, and Peter suddenly felt sorry for his colleague.
“Umm, yeah – I have a friend at Caffrey’s old firm. He may have mentioned that one of their rising stars had left to join the FBI and would probably end up here.” Jack’s smile was sickly and he didn’t convince anyone of anything.
Peter was half hoping Neal would eviscerate Franklin, but he didn’t, letting Hughes pull him over to another group of agents.
Jack drifted off, back to his own desk. Amy gave Peter a narrow-eyed stare, one that promised much pain if he didn’t give her something.
“We shared a house for a few years. Neal’s a nice guy.”
That seemed to satisfy her for the moment. “Didn’t see a wedding ring, do you know if he’s married?”
“Look, it’s been four years since I was in Boston.” Peter fiddled with the paperclips on his desk and forced himself to stop.
“So, you have no clue?”
Peter was saved from answering by the alert on his computer; it was time for the ten o’clock staff meeting.
Neal always loved first days: the first day back to school, the first day of work, the first day in a new apartment. It was the thrill of the unknown. When he had started at Drake Morrissey after law school, it wasn’t like this. He had clerked at the firm since the summer of his freshman year and knew everyone. His first day at Harvard was a little different. He’d been more excited about sharing a dorm room with Peter than his classes.
Today was the first day of all first days. Today was going to be the best first day of the rest of his life.
Peter had cautioned him, of course; he warned him against seeming too eager, too friendly, too helpful. The agents in the division were all seasoned veterans, good at what they did, but naturally suspicious of new faces. They were also territorial, ambitious, and could make his life a misery for no reason at all.
Still, Neal wasn’t put off. As long as Peter was there, as long as he had his back, there was nothing to worry about.
Except that a small voice kept whispering that Peter wasn’t going to be able to have his back. As far as anyone was concerned, they were acquaintances from their college years, long out of touch. It took some will, but Neal silenced that voice. No matter what, Peter wasn’t going to let anything bad happen to him, not if he could help it.
Besides, he was Neal George Caffrey and he could do anything he set his mind to doing.
Agent Hughes was surprisingly cordial. Neal hadn’t figured on the SAIC rolling out the red carpet for him and he wondered how well this was going to play out. He could see the speculation in some of the other agents’ eyes. He was going to have to watch his step with Jack Franklin – he said he had a friend at Drake Morrissey, but didn’t say who. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find out just who the agent talked to and what was said about him.
“You’ll join the ten o’clock staff meeting, Caffrey, and then you can get settled in.” Hughes tugged at his elbow, guiding him up to the conference room on the balcony level. The room was sizable, but there wasn’t a free chair except for the one at the head of the table. Neal knew better than to take that one. He made his way to the window ledge across the room from where Peter was sitting, grabbed one of the yellow legal pads, leaned against the wall and waited for the meeting to begin. If he was hoping for a reaction from Peter, he was disappointed.
Agent Hughes ran the meeting efficiently, calling on each agent to update the status of the current projects. He thoroughly grilled each of them – why were certain steps taken or not taken? No one was under heavy fire, but Hughes was pretty clear when he was disappointed. It was a familiar process, similar to the staff meetings that the partners ran at his old firm, but with a tighter focus.
Of course he paid attention to everyone, but when it was Peter’s turn, Neal found himself tense with expectation.
“Burke – where are you on Dihatsu Trading?”
Peter grimaced and Neal’s heart sank for him. “I’m still waiting for the translation of the purchase and sale orders. Language services won’t give me an ETA.”
Hughes shook his head. “Not good – we’re up against a statute of limitation problem. You’ll need to push harder. Go sit on them if you have to, I don’t want to hear any more excuses.”
Neal heard himself speak before he realized he was going to say anything. “I’m fluent in Japanese, maybe I can help?”
Peter didn’t look too happy about his offer. “Sir – I’ll lean on them to get it done. No need – ”
Hughes cut him off. “Burke, if Caffrey says he can help, let him help.” Peter nodded reluctantly and Hughes continued. “For those of you who weren’t around this morning, this is Neal Caffrey, my new probie.”
Neal gave a jaunty little wave and all of a sudden people were throwing coffee orders at him. He knew that the life of a probie was a lot of filing and fetching, but this was almost enough to make him regret leaving his law practice. Hughes, thankfully, cut off the agents’ demands.
“I said, Neal Caffrey is MY probie. He fetches coffee for me and only me. Got that? He is not the office gopher - we’ve got interns and clerks to help. Make use of them. And learn to get your own goddamned coffee.”
That shut everyone up but earned Neal quite a few stares - some overtly hostile, some merely speculative. He guessed that Agent Hughes had never been so possessive of a probationary agent before.
New assignments were handed out to agents, and to Neal’s shock, he was handed a folder.
“It’s a cold case, but let’s see what you’re made of, Caffrey. The translations for Burke are a priority, but I expect to see your analysis on this by close of business tomorrow.”
The agents filed out of the conference room, and Peter gave him a look that promised retribution when they got home. Neal mentally shrugged and peeked at the file - it looked like an index for a fairly large case - US v. Sullivan Savings & Loan. He swallowed, dismayed by the age of the file - it was dated 1989. This might be an impossible task - the S&L crisis of the late 1980s was becoming a distant memory.
“Problems?” Hughes’ question was not rhetorical.
“Not so far, but I’ll let you know if I’m conflicted out.”
“Good. Now get out and get to work.”
Neal went downstairs, to the desk he’d been assigned to. There was a thick file waiting for him with Peter’s distinctive handwriting on the attached note. “Don’t work on the originals - make copies. Burke.”
He didn’t know whether to be amused or worried. He decided on amusement. Peter was … Peter. He made copies and started translating. It was slow and tedious and he understood why Language Services weren’t too eager to get going on this. Many of the pages had handwritten notes, of course in Japanese, and it was the information in these addenda that could make or break the case.
He had finished the first fifteen pages when he noticed people getting up and heading out for lunch. He looked a little eagerly towards Peter’s desk, but he had already gotten up and was leaving with the two agents he’d been talking to when Hughes introduced him - Franklin and Grainger. They walked right by him without even an acknowledgement. Neal understood, but understanding didn’t make him feel any better about being ignored.
Another half hour of work and Neal decided to go grab a sandwich. He knew the area well enough to find a place – his old office was just a block over – but he still hated eating alone.
Peter came back from lunch with Jack and Amy - a thoroughly unenjoyable meal from Peter’s perspective - and found a stack of papers on his desk. The first portion of the translated orders from Dihatsu was finished and waiting for him. He looked over at Neal, who must have felt his gaze, because he looked up and their eyes met. Neal gave him a small, hopeful smile and Peter was taken back to the first day of seventh grade when he found Neal assigned to the seat next to him in Social Studies. He’d been so nervous and so determined not to show it - skipping sixth grade was a big deal.
Back then, Peter had smiled back, nodded and made sure that no one messed with Neal. Now, Neal could take care of himself, but he was still nervous and there was just as much at stake. He gave him a small smile and a nod of thanks and started to read the documents.
But he really wasn’t concentrating. Working with Neal was going to be so damn difficult. Having him right here, just a few feet away, and having to pretend that they were little more than acquaintances, was going to be torture. They had been apart for so long that even the weekend of sex, sex and more sex didn’t begin to make up for their long separation. Just gazing at Neal’s profile - pure and perfect - was enough to make him hard. It was like they were back in that hotel room and he was sinking balls-deep into Neal’s hot, slicked up ass, loving him, fucking him for the first time in five long, lonely months.
He shifted in his chair, a little uncomfortable.
“Ants in your pants?” Amy commented.
“Huh?”
“You’re squirming like my dog does when she’s got worms.”
Annoyed with himself, and just as annoyed with Amy and her foul mouth, he commented, “What are you, twelve?”
“No, but I see what’s going on.”
“And what does that mean.”
She sniffed and looked over at Neal. “You’re worried that the blue-eyed boy is going to blot out your rising star. Hughes is all over him and you’re going to find yourself on the road to Nowheresville.”
“I doubt that. He’s a probie on his first day.” Peter did allow just a hint of worry to creep into his reply.
Amy smirked. “Yeah, right and I know the scent of flop sweat when I smell it. I’ve been here eight years and seen probies come and go and not one of them had the red carpet rolled out like that.”
His desk phone rang and he turned his back to Amy before answering it. He’d been cultivating a disgruntled trader at Pederson Weller Kline, one of the brokerages at the center of the insider trading scheme he’d been working on, and the man sounded like he was ready to talk. He grabbed his jacket, pocketed his gold shield, and headed for the elevators. He passed Neal’s desk, aching to stop and say something, but he didn’t.
He couldn’t.
It was close to six and Neal lingered at the office, alternating between the translations and reviewing the Sullivan S&L file, which wasn’t a typical collapse of a small thrift institution, but a complex fraud case.
Peter came back and left again, this time with Agent Franklin, and neither man had returned yet.
Involved in a translation of the extensive tegaki, handwritten Japanese, on one of the documents. Neal didn’t hear Hughes come down from his office.
“It’s your first day, Caffrey - you don’t have to burn the world down. Yet.”
Neal looked up and smiled. “Sorry, sir. Just involved in this. It’s fascinating. I may have found the smoking gun.”
Hughes raised a bushy and all too skeptical eyebrow. “Really? Your very first day, and you’ve found the one piece of information that’s eluded a dozen agents in all their months of investigation?”
Neal couldn’t stop a flush of embarrassment at the rebuke. But he stood by what he found. “Look at this, sir.” He pulled out one of the pages he’d finished. “This is an order to purchase a hundred thousand shares of Severid Systems, which was trading at 45 and 3/16th’s a share. The notes made by the trader on the order say ‘Per info from Tomo Takedo. Confirmed purchase on NASDAQ, plus instructions to sell on Friday, January 9 at 9:45 am.’ I checked, Tomo Takedo was the chairman of HonKai Chemicals, and Severid, a German chemical company, booked a high volume order with HonKai earlier that month. The deal was kept quiet until after their earnings report was released in Germany on afternoon of the 9th. Which would have been just as the markets opened in New York. Severid went up nineteen points on the news. The brokerage was trading on insider information.” He grabbed another page. “Here is the corresponding sale transaction - at 9:45 am on January 9th. They made a bundle. Can’t believe someone was so stupid to make notes like that.”
Hughes’ lips twitched. “Smoking gun, indeed. So much for starting out slowly, easing your way into the office. Good thing Burke’s your friend, otherwise he’d be mighty pissed that you picked this up.”
Neal hadn’t thought about that. “It’s still Peter’s case; I’m just translating the documents.”
Hughes’ stare was level, but Neal knew just what it meant. “Finish the translations; don’t worry about the report on the Sullivan case. It’s been cold for over half a decade, it can wait a few days or weeks. This …” He tapped the pile of papers. “Is your priority right now.” Hughes turned to leave.
“Um, sir?”
“Yes, Caffrey?”
“Will Peter –” He corrected himself. “Excuse me, Will Agent Burke be back tonight? I wanted to give him this.”
“Burke and Franklin were following up a lead on one for Franklin’s cases and it could be a few hours before they’re back. The morning is soon enough. You’ve done a good day’s work, so go home.”
Neal thought about waiting, but as the office emptied out, he figured it would be the worst kind of brown-nosing to hang around. He’d see Peter when he got home, anyway.
It was weird taking the N train again, like nothing had changed. Except that everything had – he carrying a gun, not a briefcase. The weight of his firearm, the heft and bulk of it under his suit jacket, was novel, strange. He wondered if other passengers could see the bulge. Flexing his shoulders at the pull of the still unfamiliar shoulder rig, Neal winced at the jacket’s uncomfortable tightness. He needed to get to the tailor and figured he’d end up paying the man a bundle to see him on a Saturday. Neal could just imagine the expression on Hughes’ face if he asked for a long lunch break because he needed to get his suits fixed.
The train stopped at a dozen stations before coming to a halt one last time – his stop. Neal didn’t need to translate the incomprehensible announcement coming over the loudspeaker. It was early April, and at six-thirty, there was still an hour’s worth of daylight left. He enjoyed the walk to the apartment and was surprised to see a few kids around; someone had organized a game of stickball. Maybe the neighborhood wasn’t as bad as he remembered.
Neal stopped to watch the kids play and grinned as a boy hit the ball over the fielders’ heads. He ran as if his life depended on it. The ball came to rest on the sidewalk by his feet and a little kid – a boy maybe eight or nine came to fetch it. He vaguely recognized the child – he probably lived in the same building. “Hey, mister – can we have the ball back?”
Neal picked it up, tossed it to the kid, and was about to head into the apartment building when a man ran up to him, red-faced with anger and started shouting in his face.
“You – you faggot – you stay away from my kid!”
Shit. The boy was one of his neighbor’s and the guy was crazy. When they first moved in, he started in on Neal because he held the door open for his wife. At some point, he realized that he and Peter shared a one-bedroom apartment, and therefore were faggots. Yeah, they were, but that was no one’s business. And oddly enough, the son of a bitch never bothered Peter, just him.
Neal ignored him and continued up the front steps.
The man, ironically named Meeker, grabbed his arm. “Hey – I said – you stay away from my kid, pervert. I’ll call the cops if I see you near him again.”
Neal turned around. “Take your hand off me. I’m going to say for the very last time, I have no interest in your kids, in your wife, or you.” He shook himself free. “Now leave me alone.”
“I heard what you and that other fag got up to last night – you’re filth, a disgusting perverted piece of filth, and I’m going to make sure you go to straight to Hell.”
“I said, back off.” Neal was surprised when Meeker sneered and walked away, around the corner. He opened the outer door and fumbled for his keys to the security door, finally getting it opened. He heard the outer door open and turned around. Meeker had come back, a piece of iron rebar in his fist and murder in his eyes.
The space between the inner and outer door was small, but not small enough to keep Meeker from trying to bash his brains in. Neal pushed into the building’s inner lobby but was unable to prevent the man from following. He swung at Neal, missed and raised his arm to try again.
Neal reacted as his training taught him; he pulled his gun, flicked off the safety and hoped like hell he wasn’t going to have to shoot someone on his very first day as an FBI agent. Meeker stopped, the iron bar raised to deliver a killing blow.
“I will shoot you and I will kill you. So drop it, now.
Meeker’s ugly face curled into an even uglier snarl. “Little faggot is gonna need a bigger gun. You better learn to sleep with one eye opened, because I’m gonna end you.” He threw the rebar aside and screamed again, “I’m gonna end you.”
Neal holstered his gun, but left the safety off. “You’re making a mistake, Meeker. Just stay away from me.” He knew that reasoning with this guy was pointless, but he had to try. Instead of backing off, Meeker charged him. Neal punched him once in the belly and once across the face, a right hook to the jaw. Meeker crashed back into the door and collapsed; momentarily stunned. Neal took the opportunity to pick up the rebar that Meeker tossed aside, using a scrap of newspaper to keep his fingerprints off it.
Commonsense would have Neal handcuffing Meeker before calling 911, except that he didn’t have handcuffs. Probies were issued service weapons as part of their training, but they didn’t get the first pair of cuffs until after reporting to their first assignment. It would be a few weeks before he got his.
That didn’t help now, and Meeker wasn’t going to stay unconscious for long. Neal retreated up the stairs, to the apartment. Opening the four deadbolts wasn’t easy while watching out for a murderous assailant. Neal got inside, put the rebar on the kitchen counter and called the police to report the assault.
While he waited for the cops to arrive, Neal pulled out his suitcases and started packing. He’d stay until Peter came home, but he wasn’t going to spend another night here. His life was more important than Peter’s pride.
Tags:
- character: bancroft,
- character: neal caffrey,
- character: ofc,
- character: omc,
- character: peter burke,
- character: reese hughes,
- genre: alternative universe,
- genre: angst,
- genre: domesticity,
- genre: romance,
- genre: slash,
- kink: frotting,
- kink: handcuffs,
- kink: nipple play,
- pairing: peter/neal,
- type: fan fiction,
- type: longfic,
- wc verse: wonderful years,
- white collar,
- year: 2013
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no subject
Date: 2013-03-14 01:30 pm (UTC)So very true. But his definition of "earned" is too limited. ::pets him::
I shall try to be patient until the next part.