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elrhiarhodanTitle: Keep the Creatures Safe From Harm – Part Four/Four - Complete
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke, Reese Hughes, Diana Berrigan, Clinton Jones, Mozzie, June Ellington, Amanda Calloway, OMC, OFC
Spoilers: All of Season 4, Specifically In the Wind
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Prison Fic, Dub-Con, Violence, First Time fic, Angst,
Word Count: ~28,000 Total
Beta Credit:coffeethyme4me, jrosemary, rabidchild67
Summary: Following the tragic events at the end of In the Wind, Peter is facing the ultimate penalty and Neal is prepared to do whatever it takes to keep that from happening. Even as old enemies are sharpening their knives, Peter and Neal are not without friends.
A/N: Many, many thanks to my trio of beta readers and cheerleaders, who gave unstintingly of their time as this turned from a vague idea for some dirty prison fic into a massive and angst-ridden epic. And my deepest appreciation to the ladies of the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
wcwu chats, whose enthusiasm for this story boosted my confidence and kept me going.
Title from Oysterband’s “Put Out the Lights”.
Part 1 – On DW | On LJ
Part 2 – On DW | On LJ
Part 3 – On DW | On LJ
__________________
“Neal, are you okay?” June’s concern warms his heart; she’s a true friend and understands him better than almost everyone. The doctor she called has come and gone, leaving fresh bandages, a prescription for a broad-spectrum antibiotic, and taking away a few vials of his blood.
He smiles at her. It’s not his conman’s grin – the one that he had given her that morning in the thrift store so long ago – but one from his heart. If it’s a little sad around the edges, June doesn’t comment. “I’m just fine.” He takes a sip of coffee. It’s the famed Italian roast, perfectly brewed. The croissants are fresh and the fruit preserves are ambrosia. It may be the best meal he’s ever eaten. And he laughs at that thought. He’s had the same one every time he’s gotten out of prison and had breakfast with June.
She’s uncannily perceptive. “Three times now – does that make this a ritual?”
“Three?”
She ticks off each instance. “After the charges were dropped from that jewel theft, after Kate …”
Ah, yes. He’d forgotten about the pink diamond. “Maybe it is, but here’s to hoping this is the last time we have our celebratory Neal-Out-Of-Prison meal.” He lifts the champagne flute and taps it against June’s, then takes a sip. It’s Cristal and it goes right to his head.
He tilts his neck back and stares into the deep blue sky. It’s a miracle and Neal tells himself he should never stop appreciating his freedom.
Metal scraps against stone and his view of the sky is momentarily blocked by June. She leans over and presses a most motherly kiss against his forehead. “Get some rest. You’ve been through an ordeal.”
He smiles again and she pats his cheek before leaving.
The warmth and the breeze are a heady combination, and maybe he’s just drunk on freedom and not the bubbly. Neal moves over to the lounger and stretches out. Of course his mind goes back to yesterday and everything that happened.
It’s inevitable, of course, that he also has to remember his interlude with Anderson. But that’s okay – Peter’s free and that makes everything worth it. Neal also has to cherish the memory of waking up in Peter’s arms, the warmth, the safety of that moment. If he ever had any doubts that he was loved, that moment erased them all.
Neal saves and savors the memory of the rest of that morning: saving Peter’s life, Peter holding him, bandaging him, kissing him, loving him.
His phone rings. It’s Moz. He doesn’t want to answer it, but he knows that Moz will keep calling until Neal does.
“Hey there.” He knows he sounds a little apathetic. Appropriately, he doesn’t care.
“Ira’s been in contact with you-know-who.”
Neal appreciates that Moz doesn’t mention his father’s name. “And?”
“The client’s asked for the documents to be ready a few days sooner. He’s getting out of the country.”
“And?”
“Ira’s agreed. He called to tell me that they’re all but done – just waiting for the ink to dry. I’ve called the Suits and it’s all systems go for tomorrow.”
“And Ira’s still cooperative?”
“Yeah – he’s naturally reluctant to allow the Feds into his workshop and I’ve had to promise to help him move after the Feds clear out – but Ira’s cool.”
Neal’s absorbed by the shape of one of the clouds overhead. It reminds him of a butterfly, or maybe a hummingbird. The breeze picks up and now it’s a raptor stooping for its prey.
“Neal? Neal?”
He turns his attention back to the conversation. “Yeah, Moz?”
“Do you want to be part of the takedown? I could probably get the Demi-Suits to let you watch.”
Neal has to smile at that – Moz is very chummy with Diana and Clinton now. “No – let them do their job. I’ve got nothing to say to Bennett.”
Moz chatters a bit more, filling the space with sound, telling him that it looks like Calloway’s on her way down and out. Neal’s happy to let Moz talk until his phone chirps with call-waiting. He checks – it’s Peter. Neal abruptly tells Moz that he has to go.
Neal sits up. “Hey there.”
“Hey, yourself.”
He laughs. “What are we, teenagers?”
Peter shares his amusement. “You doing okay?”
Neal tells him about the doctor visit. “He says it’ll heal fine. Keep the arm covered until it scabs over, don’t strain the muscles. The usual.” He isn’t going to mention the blood tests, though, and then thinks better of it. “He’s also checking me for hepatitis and HIV.” Neal pauses, and voices his one regret. “I shouldn’t have let you go in bare.”
“Were you clean before?”
“Yes.”
“Have you had unprotected sex since your last blood test?”
“No.” He doesn’t have to even think about that. Carter had suited up, and he and Sara were always careful.
“Then there’s nothing to worry about.” That’s that, and Peter changes the subject. “Have you heard from Moz? He’s had word from your forger friend about James.”
“Yeah – he told me.” Neal wishes Peter wouldn’t call him James, like he’s a friend or someone that should matter to him. “Diana and Clinton have everything under control.” He doesn’t want to talk about it anymore.
Peter senses his distress with the conversation, because he drops it and asks, instead, “What are you doing?”
“Finding pictures in the clouds.”
“Pareidolia.”
Neal laughs. “Trust you to know the technical name.”
“Hmm.”
Neal lets the sound of Peter’s voice rumble through him. He has to ask, though. “How’s Elizabeth?”
There’s a pause and it’s just too significant for Neal’s peace of mind. “She’s doing okay.”
“You told me I had nothing to worry about.” And so Neal now has to worry.
“And you don’t. El’s fine. We’re fine. It’s just going to take more than a night and a day to settle back into the normal pace of things.”
He’s not convinced, but he’s not going to make Peter upset by dragging this out. “You’re doing okay?”
“I am, now. The whole drive home, I was a little out of it, everything seemed so hyper real.”
“Yeah – it’s like that.” Neal’s experienced that each time he’s gotten out.
“But when I got home and Satchmo was barking and jumping on me like a puppy when I came through the door, I just – well – lost it. I couldn’t stop crying. I – I thought I’d never see him again. He’s not a young dog and if I never got out …” Peter sounds like he’s on the verge of tears and Neal wants to cry, too.
“If I ever needed an excuse to get you out of there, that was it.”
“I didn’t say it before, but I need to now. Thank you, Neal – for everything.”
Neal understands there is so much more behind those simple words. It’s there and it doesn’t need to be spoken of because they’ve both acknowledged it.
The silence between them is comfortable and Neal finds that he’s actually happy. It’s like the bubble in Champagne rising to the surface, fizzing in his brain, his bones. Even when Peter says that he has to go (and he can hear Elizabeth and Satchmo in the background), Neal’s still happy.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Elizabeth isn’t a stupid woman. Nor is she blind. She knows that something happened to Peter in prison and she doesn’t know if she can bear to wait for Peter to tell her.
After his breakdown – which was traumatic but in its own way, perfectly normal – Peter returned to the man she’s loved for so many years. He’s worried, of course, about finding Neal’s father, he’s worried that he could go to prison for a crime he didn’t commit, he’s worried that even if that doesn’t happen, he’s lost his job. He’s worried about Diana and Clinton. He’s worried about her. He’s worried about everything.
Except Neal, apparently.
For the better part of a day, Neal Caffrey’s name doesn’t cross his lips. Peter’s talked with Claude; he’s talked with Diana, with Clinton, with Reese and even with Moz. But he doesn’t call Neal (at least not in her hearing range) and Neal doesn’t come over.
She’s not stupid and she’s not blind and for the better part of the last three years, she’s teasingly urged Peter to do what he’s wanted to do ever since he first met Neal Caffrey. She’s even been serious about bringing him into their bed. Of course she knows that he’ll never act on those desires, not as long as he’s holding Neal’s leash. But it not like that’s going to last forever, right?
And she expected Peter to seal the deal in Cape Verde, but Moz and Kyle Collins were apparently too effective as cock blockers. And there was also the girl from the coffee shop. El was disappointed when Peter came home and told her what didn’t happen. Intensely disappointed.
It’s driving her crazy that Peter’s acting like Neal doesn’t exist. It’s obvious that something happened between them in jail and it’s either very good or really terrible and Elizabeth’s afraid to push, she’s afraid of what she’ll find out.
She’s waiting for Peter to come out of the shower, again. In the twenty-four hours that he’s been home, he’s taken at least four, maybe five showers. She can understand that – he wants to wash away the stink of his incarceration. The shame of it. Then her soul grows cold. Maybe he needs to wash away something else. Peter had laughed off the black eye that first morning, but maybe he was hurt worse that he let on.
She panics and runs into the bathroom. Peter’s still in the shower and he’s … he’s masturbating.
She’s worried that he was raped and the bastard’s in the shower jerking off?
Elizabeth takes a deep breath and calms down. Getting angry won’t solve anything. She just waits for him to finish and as she watches, she realizes it’s actually kind of arousing. Peter doesn’t know she’s there. He’s working himself in his fist, really pulling at his cock and she rubs her thighs together. She can’t help herself, her hand cups her cunt, pressing the seam of her jeans against her clit in the same rhythm as Peter’s strokes. It’s dirty and perverse and she bites her lip as she comes. Peter comes and she shudders from her own aftershocks.
Peter looks up and sees her. He rinses, turns off the shower and opens the glass door. El doesn’t say a word, just hands her husband a towel, gives him a look and walks out.
She goes into the bedroom and sits down on the bed. She doesn’t understand – she can’t figure this out – but she knows it has something to do with Neal.
Peter’s got a bathrobe on; his hair’s uncombed and poking out all over the place. He looks kind of adorable and El can’t help but smile. She pats the bed and Peter sits down next to her. “Tell me what’s going on. My imagination is only going to make it worse.”
“Neal and I … we – “ Peter stops and looks at her. It’s not precisely guilt on his face.
El makes it easy on him. “Slept together?”
Peter blushes. “Yeah, that too.”
She laughs and pushes at him, she has to. “Why the coyness? Why are you practically pretending Neal doesn’t exist? Do you regret it?”
Peter takes an audibly deep breath, like he’s gearing himself up for something unpleasant. “No, not at all. It’s just – well – it’s complicated.”
El doesn’t see that. “I’ve been telling you to go after him for years. How complicated can it be?”
“Hon – you were so angry at him. You blamed him for this. You said that if I hadn’t gotten involved with his life, none of this would have happened. So yeah, I feel a little guilty about it.” Peter wraps an arm around here. “And honestly, it’s a little weird to come home, have this huge emotional breakdown, and then tell you that I had sex with Neal.”
She can see his point, and she has to clear the air. “I was angry at Neal. Was. I’m not anymore.”
“Because he saved my life?”
“Maybe that’s part of it, but also – you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t get involved.” El sighs. “I remember Jimmy Burger. You didn’t stand back with him, either. And his death broke your heart a little, too.”
“El …” Peter pulls her close and she buries her face in his shoulder. They sit like that for a few minutes, remaking the connections between them.
“Was it good?” The imp in her, the little devil that regrets not being witness to Peter and Neal’s first kiss, makes her ask.
Peter chuckles, “Yeah.” Then he turns serious. “Neal – he was afraid that he’d hurt you, that you’d hate him even more than you already do.”
“Have you talked to him since you’ve been home?”
“I spoke with him a couple of hours ago, when you were out with Satchmo. I just didn’t want to make things worse.” Peter’s voice trails off and El understands.
“How is he?”
“He’s okay.”
But El doesn’t quite believe Peter. She’s not sure that Peter even believes it, himself. “He’s all alone – that’s wrong. He should be here, with us. We should be with him.”
“El…”
She pulls herself out of Peter’s arms and stands, hands on her hips. She’s as determined as she was fourteen years ago, when she decided that this goofy, gorgeous and slightly dangerous man was going to be her husband. “I’m going to go and get Neal. You have any problems with that?”
His smile is the only answer she needs.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
It’s New York and it’s summertime and the weather changes between one moment and the next. Neal’s lazing in the sunshine, his eyes closed, and he lets his mind drift. The thoughts are scattered, diffuse. The light paints rainbows and stars and bursting skyrockets behind his eyelids until a chill wind, damp with rain, makes him open his eyes.
The blue skies are a memory (for the moment). The wind picks up. Neal scrambles to put the cover on the lounger and get inside before the downpour starts. It’s a close run thing. He pulls the French doors shut just as the sky goes black and the deluge begins. He stands at the door, watching the chaos outside. It’s only mid-afternoon, but it’s as dark as midnight. The rain pauses as lightening pierces the sky, followed by a peal of thunder loud enough to send the glass doors rattling.
He doesn’t mind giving up the sunshine for the storm. He likes the feeling of the dramatic, mid-day darkness, the deep and unexpected shadows. Maybe it’s the feeling of sanctuary, that the world could go a little crazy, but here, inside this room, he is safe. It’s a feeling not unlike the moment after the attack on Peter, when they were hustled back to their cell. The building’s old, the seals are imperfect, and some moisture creeps through, dripping down the glass. He traces the path with a finger, even as the thunder peals again, making everything shake.
But it’s New York and it’s summertime and the weather changes between one moment and the next. The storm moves off, leaving who knows what kind of damage in its wake, and the sun burns through the remnants of the dark clouds, gilding their edges in gold and silver.
Neal’s reminded of a Turner or some massive canvas from the Hudson River School – maybe The Oxbow – and he wonders if that should be his next project. He hasn’t attempted a landscape in a long time. But his thoughts turn bleak; Neal can’t forget that conversation with James.
He tells himself it doesn’t matter. Biology may count for something, but it’s not everything. He may not know exactly who he is yet, but if the last few days have taught him anything at all, it’s that he’s not his father’s son.
Neal George Caffrey is thirty-four years old and he’s a work in progress. He can live with that.
There’s a roll of canvas and some stretcher frames in his closet and Neal’s about to go get them when someone knocks on his door. It’s not Moz – the knock is not in iambic pentameter. It’s not Peter, who raps with a lot more authority. And it’s not June, she’s left for the day.
Whoever is there is impatient and knocks again.
Neal doesn’t bother asking who it is – which is probably stupid and careless – and just pulls open the door. He’s shocked. It’s Elizabeth and she looks like a drowned kitten.
He pulls her inside and the questions spill out in a breathless, panicked rush. “Is it Peter? What’s happened? Have they taken him back to prison?”
Elizabeth’s smile is radiant. “No, Peter’s fine. He’s home, catching up on things, playing with the dog, jerking off. Nothing to worry about.”
Neal blinks. Did Elizabeth actually say that Peter was jerking off? No, he must have imagined that.
“Umm – do you have a towel or something?” Elizabeth gestures to her wet hair and soaked shirt. Neal can’t help but notice her nipples peaking under the fabric.
“Oh, sure – hold on.” He sits her down and runs and gets her a towel and a Japanese haori that he’s used as a robe on occasion.
She thanks him. “Now, turn your back and be a gentleman.” Despite her words, she doesn’t wait for Neal to look away as she pulls off her soaked tee-shirt. Before he can turn around, Neal catches a glimpse of the ivory-white skin on her midriff and the silk-satin fabric of her bra, a shade darker.
“Okay – all covered up. It’s safe to look.”
El’s got the robe on, but it’s a men’s garment and fits a little snug across the front. Neal keeps his eyes averted from the gap that gets wider as Elizabeth pulls a brush from her handbag and works it through her hair before drawing it back into a ponytail.
It’s just a moments and Elizabeth Burke’s transformed from drowned kitten back into the determined woman he knows so well. The transformation is actually unnerving.
“Coffee? A glass of wine?”
“Coffee would be good, I could use something to warm me up.” Elizabeth shakes out her shirt and rolls it up into the towel to make it dry a little faster.
Neal fusses with the coffeepot, concentrating on getting the measurements just right. Delaying tactics are all well and good, but they can’t be strung out indefinitely. He makes Elizabeth’s coffee (a splash of cream, no sugar), pours a glass of wine for himself and sits at the opposite end of the table.
She smiles at him. It’s a combination of affection and understanding and something else that Neal can’t pin down. He knows she’s grateful to him for helping Peter through the ordeal in prison. Okay, for saving Peter’s life. But gratitude isn’t affection and Elizabeth has every right to be furious with him. But she’s not.
Neal can’t take it any longer. Elizabeth’s looking at him over her coffee cup, smiling at him like she’s the Mona Lisa, and he just has to ask. “If everything’s all right at home, why are you here?”
She leans forward, resting her arms on the table, and her look is even more puzzling. It’s warmer, more affectionate than he expected. “I wanted to know how you are doing.”
Neal smiles back, hoping he looks reassuring. “I’m good. It’s not like I haven’t gotten out of prison before.” He goes on, trying to be witty and entertaining. “June and I were just saying this morning that we’ve got our own post-release ritual now. A Continental breakfast on the terrace, complete with Italian roast, croissants and Champagne.”
Elizabeth doesn’t seem entertained. Her gaze is thoughtful. Then she drops her bombshell. “Peter and I talked. He told me what happened between you two.”
Neal freezes and carefully puts his wineglass on the table before it falls out of his hand. Of course Peter would tell Elizabeth. Neal knows that there are no secrets between this husband and wife. And he remembers Peter’s admonition, “Don’t worry.” But he can’t help but worry. And yet, Elizabeth doesn’t look upset or angry. She looks … happy. That was the quality he couldn’t define before. “Elizabeth – ” He starts to speak but for the life of him, he can’t figure out what to say. He can’t apologize and he can’t lie.
She takes mercy on him. “It’s okay, Neal. It’s more than okay.” She moves to the chair next to him. “I’ve been telling Peter that he’s been a fool for waiting so long. But you know him; there are lines that he won’t cross, even when you’re involved.” Her hand on his arm is like a kiss of fire.
“You know? You’ve known?” Neal wonders just how obvious he’s been about his feelings for Peter.
But Elizabeth is talking Peter’s feelings for him. “He’s loved you for a long time; he’s wanted you even longer than that.”
“He’s loved you …” Everything stops in the breath between those words. Neal knows that Peter loves him. He’s always known, in a way. But hearing the confirmation from Elizabeth makes that knowledge just a bit more real. The world starts spinning again. “And you’re okay with that?”
“I love Peter, he loves me – there is no doubt or question about that. And he loves you, too. I think, maybe, if he didn’t love you, if it was just lust, I’d feel differently.” Her hand slides down his arm and slips into his hand. There’s something tentative about her touch, as if she’s asking permission. He holds her hand like it’s a butterfly at rest, and then brings it up to his lips.
“Thank you.” Neal has a feeling that there’s more to Elizabeth’s words than this. They are a palimpsest. There’s something underneath what she’s just told him and he’ll need time to remove the layers and get to her hidden meaning.
“Come home with me.” There’s no hidden code in that request. “Peter needs you – we need you.” Her hand squeezes his, as tight as a vise.
Neal knows this: he can’t deny Elizabeth anything she wants. Especially when he wants the same thing.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Diana’s watching through the slats of louvered bathroom door, her gun drawn. Clinton’s in a closet at the other end of the loft, also watching and waiting. They’re on radio silence since surveillance in the van notified them that James Bennett was spotted a block away. They don’t want to go after him on the street. It would be too easy for him to run, for them to lose him for good.
She’s got eyes on Ira – first name only, please – and she worries. He’s nervous, pacing and biting at his nails. His eyes keep going to the bathroom where she’s hidden, to the closet where Clinton is. He’s made it clear that he’s doing this only as a favor to Neal and to Moz. He doesn’t like the FBI – that goes without saying – and she worries that his hatred of the Feds will trump his friendship with Neal and Moz and he’ll blow everything.
Ira’s in the business of making false identification and they really should bust him for every single one of the fake passport blanks in his workshop. But they don’t, because catching James Bennett is a lot more important.
She wishes that she had more current intel. The waiting game is getting to her and if Ira looks at the bathroom door one more time, she’s going to twist his nuts off.
Patience does pay off. Diana hears the loft’s elevator begin to grind to life. It’s old and it’s slow and she counts her heartbeats wait for it to stop. So far, so good. Ira’s following the plan; he’s staying in the middle of the room, waiting for Bennett to come to him.
Metal clangs and gears groan as the elevator door opens. Bennett steps into the loft and calls out, “You there?”
This is when it could all go to shit.
“Yeah, in here.” Ira’s still on the playbook.
“You finish the work?”
“Yeah – you got my money?”
Bennett’s in view, they could take him now. There was some discussion about letting the exchange be made, to get Bennett on some additional Federal charges. Clinton’s leading the op, so the timing of the take down’s his call.
Bennett hands the money to Ira and Ira gives him a manila envelope.
She hears Clinton’s voice through her earpiece. “Target’s in sight, exchange complete, we’re a go.”
She acts on the signal, bursting out of her concealment with her gun pointed at Bennett. She’s shouting “FBI, hands up and to get down on your knees.” Clinton’s calling on the same instructions, advancing on Neal’s father with his gun aimed straight at his face.
Bennett’s hand goes down and Diana spots the silver of a pistol grip. She shouts “gun” and tackles Bennett, pulling his arm back. They both hit the ground. She pushes a knee into the base of his spine, immobilizing him and it’s only a matter of seconds before she’s got the cuffs on his wrists.
Clinton pulls Bennett to his feet and takes the gun out of his waistband. “What have we got here?”
Diana answers, since James certainly won’t. “Looks like the late Senator’s pistol – the one his bodyguard said he was never without.”
Clinton completes the formalities, reading Bennett his rights. They are both sort of shocked when he gets belligerent, demanding, “What are the charges?
“Let’s start with possession of a stolen firearm and go from there.” Agents pour into the loft, but neither Diana nor Clinton will surrender James Bennett to anyone. They’re going to escort him through every step of the processing. No one’s taking any chances.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
It’s a little after five and Reese feels like he could sleep for a week. It’s a hot and airless afternoon and there’s no promise it’s going to cool off any time soon. He’s grateful to find a parking spot near Peter and Elizabeth’s house because he’s too damn weary to trek through the streets of Cobble Hill. He’s had too much coffee and not enough food – typical of long stakeouts followed by longer interrogations – and thinks, So much for retirement.
But that’s not to say Reese isn’t looking forward to the task at hand.
He climbs the front steps with more vigor than he thinks possible and rings the bell. The Burkes’ dog is barking and the curtain over the front door shifts. It’s Elizabeth and she opens the door, clearly surprised to see him.
He as a weird moment of déjà vu. Was it really three years since he came here to warn Peter about Fowler and the alleged bribery? Those were simpler days.
“Reese?”
“Can I come in, Elizabeth?” The dog, a big, yellow creature, is sniffing at his feet.
She steps aside, but not before reaching down and pulling the dog away from him. He is a little sorry for that. He likes dogs, and the bigger, the better.
Of course she asks, “Is everything okay?”
He doesn’t answer. “Is Peter home?”
“Yes, we’re out on the patio.” She pats the dog’s rear to send him off to his bed under the air conditioner and takes Reese outside.
Reese isn’t surprised to see Caffrey with Peter. They’ve each got a bottle of beer and look up at his intrusion. At first glance, both men look well, but there’s a certain wariness there, too.
Peter stands and takes his hand before offering him a seat. Caffrey just looks at him.
“What brings you here?”
He decides it’s better to get right to the point, no need to string this out. “James Bennett was arrested early this morning. He’s confessed to shooting Terrence Pratt, but insists that it was an act of self-defense.”
“If he’s confessed, does this mean that the charges against Peter will be dropped? That Peter will be reinstated?” Neal’s first concern is about Peter, it’s always like that.
“The U.S. Attorney’s office has been informed of Bennett’s statements and there should be a hearing later today or tomorrow.”
“Oh, thank God.” Elizabeth reaches out for her husband, and then for him. “Thank you, Reese.”
Peter thanks him, too, and then gives him a questioning look. “Of all the people I expected to get this news from, you were the last one on the list. Not that I don’t appreciate you coming here to tell us, but aren’t you supposed to be retired?”
He rubs the back of his neck, mildly amused, mildly ill at ease. “Yeah, well, about that.”
There’s a perceptive look in Caffrey’s eyes. He’s probably spoken with the short one and knows what’s going on.
“Reese?” Peter’s impatient, but that impatience is couched in a dawning comprehension.
“Someone filed a report with OPR about Amanda Calloway. Apparently there’s a recording of a telephone call of her tipping off Senator Pratt about the investigation. OPR’s investigating and she may even be facing criminal charges.”
“Really? I’m horrified that a veteran agent would conspire with a politically connected target of a corruption investigation. I have to wonder how the call got recorded and how OPR got hold of it.”
Reese is amused at how Peter tries to sound shocked. Of course he knows about the recording, and Caffrey does, too. The show is for the benefit of Elizabeth and the off chance that there’s someone listening.
Reese chuckles, it’s a good performance. “Don’t look at me – the first I heard about it was when the Assistant Director asked me to come back and temporarily oversee the division, until permanent a replacement can be found.”
“Asked?” Now Peter doesn’t bother to hide the laughter.
“Okay, begged. But it’s not a long-term thing. I agreed on two conditions. First – that I’ll only stay until they find a replacement. And …” Reese pauses. He knows the value of showmanship and he’s got an appreciative audience. “My second condition is that I will head the selection committee for that replacement.”
Peter’s quick, too quick to respond. “Even if I get my job back, I don’t want yours, Reese. Don’t put me on the short list. I love field work too much.”
Typical Peter Burke. “You’ll have your badge back, don’t worry about that. It’s amazing how many more influential friends I’ve got now.” Reese doesn’t tell Peter that his name will be the only one on the list. He’ll just have to learn to manage the administrative side of things.
They talk about procedure for a little while, tactics for dealing with the inevitable administrative hearing. Elizabeth offers him a beer, which he declines. He gratefully accepts, though, her offer of an iced coffee. He turns to Peter. “Can I have a few minutes with Neal?”
The Burkes and Caffrey look startled, but Peter and Elizabeth leave him with Neal.
Neal’s toying with his beer bottle, chipping away at the paper label with his thumbnail. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t flinch at his gaze, either. This isn’t a man who breaks easily, if at all, Reese thinks.
“Your father – “
“You mean James Bennett.” Neal’s tone is leaden.
“Yes, he – ”
Neal cuts him off again. “Please – don’t refer to him as ‘my father’.”
“As you wish.” He understands Neal all too well. “James Bennett didn’t confess easily. He declined a lawyer, but he refused to talk about what happened with Pratt. He refused to talk at all after we brought him in.”
“He’s a selfish bastard, so that doesn’t surprise me.” Neal’s retort is calm, measured, as if he’s weighing the cost of every word.
“You should know that it wasn’t until Berrigan told him if Peter went to prison for Pratt’s murder, that your deal with the FBI would be revoked, that we even got a reaction out of Bennett. He didn’t start talking until Jones said you were back in jail, waiting for a transfer to Sing-Sing, where you’d serve out the rest of your sentence.”
Neal blinks, the only sign he’s affected by this information. “Clinton lied, then. I’ve been out since yesterday afternoon.”
“We’re the FBI; we can lie during an interrogation.”
“For the record, I don’t have a problem with that. There’s nothing wrong with lying, especially to serve the greater good.” Neal shakes his head.
Of course Caffrey would see it like that. “Neal, James Bennett would have said nothing, he wouldn’t have confessed to shooting Pratt, he would have been held on a few minor charges and probably walked away if it wasn’t for that lie. He only confessed because he cares about you.”
Neal looks him in the eye, his face hard. “If he is a good man, he wouldn’t have run after shooting Pratt. Peter wouldn’t have had to take the fall for him, he wouldn’t have been arrested. Bad men can do good things, but they are still bad. Whatever Bennett’s motivations are, he’s still a corrupt cop, a liar and a thief and a murderer. Nothing changes that.”
Reese’s heart fills with compassion. It must be a terrible thing to be so disillusioned. “Every child deserves to have a father he can look up to.”
Neal nods, his gaze going off into the distance.
He has one more thing he wants to tell Caffrey. “I don’t know if it makes any difference, if it makes anything easier, but I would have been proud to call you son. You’re a good man, Neal Caffrey, never doubt that.”
Reese enjoys the shocked look on Neal’s face. He’s glad he’ll have the chance to spend a little more time with him.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Neal watches Hughes and Peter and Elizabeth through the window. They are laughing, at ease with each other. He doesn’t mind being apart from them for the moment, now that the worst of it is over.
He thinks that the past few days are like the yesterday afternoon’s storm, going from brilliant sunshine to unexpected darkness and danger and back to blue skies and sunshine. Almost as if the trauma never happened.
Almost.
He sees Hughes give Peter a genial clap on the shoulder and kiss Elizabeth’s cheek. He’s leaving. Neal thinks about going in to say goodbye, too. But come Monday morning, he’ll be at his desk, working. He’s pretty sure that Hughes will find something to keep him busy and relatively out of trouble until Peter’s back where he belongs.
After a few minutes, Peter and Elizabeth join him on the patio. Peter takes away the now-warm beer bottle and replaces it with a glass of iced coffee. “What did Hughes want to talk to you about?”
Of course Peter’s curious, but Neal brushes the question off. “Not important.” That’s not completely true, because Neal is always going to treasure Hughes’ last comments.
Peter sees, he understands. And Elizabeth does, too. They take his hands, pulling him into a gentle embrace. This is his family. He loves and is loved.
Nothing more needs to be said.
Fin
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke, Reese Hughes, Diana Berrigan, Clinton Jones, Mozzie, June Ellington, Amanda Calloway, OMC, OFC
Spoilers: All of Season 4, Specifically In the Wind
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Prison Fic, Dub-Con, Violence, First Time fic, Angst,
Word Count: ~28,000 Total
Beta Credit:
coffeethyme4me, jrosemary, rabidchild67 Summary: Following the tragic events at the end of In the Wind, Peter is facing the ultimate penalty and Neal is prepared to do whatever it takes to keep that from happening. Even as old enemies are sharpening their knives, Peter and Neal are not without friends.
A/N: Many, many thanks to my trio of beta readers and cheerleaders, who gave unstintingly of their time as this turned from a vague idea for some dirty prison fic into a massive and angst-ridden epic. And my deepest appreciation to the ladies of the
wcwu chats, whose enthusiasm for this story boosted my confidence and kept me going. Title from Oysterband’s “Put Out the Lights”.
Part 1 – On DW | On LJ
Part 2 – On DW | On LJ
Part 3 – On DW | On LJ
“Neal, are you okay?” June’s concern warms his heart; she’s a true friend and understands him better than almost everyone. The doctor she called has come and gone, leaving fresh bandages, a prescription for a broad-spectrum antibiotic, and taking away a few vials of his blood.
He smiles at her. It’s not his conman’s grin – the one that he had given her that morning in the thrift store so long ago – but one from his heart. If it’s a little sad around the edges, June doesn’t comment. “I’m just fine.” He takes a sip of coffee. It’s the famed Italian roast, perfectly brewed. The croissants are fresh and the fruit preserves are ambrosia. It may be the best meal he’s ever eaten. And he laughs at that thought. He’s had the same one every time he’s gotten out of prison and had breakfast with June.
She’s uncannily perceptive. “Three times now – does that make this a ritual?”
“Three?”
She ticks off each instance. “After the charges were dropped from that jewel theft, after Kate …”
Ah, yes. He’d forgotten about the pink diamond. “Maybe it is, but here’s to hoping this is the last time we have our celebratory Neal-Out-Of-Prison meal.” He lifts the champagne flute and taps it against June’s, then takes a sip. It’s Cristal and it goes right to his head.
He tilts his neck back and stares into the deep blue sky. It’s a miracle and Neal tells himself he should never stop appreciating his freedom.
Metal scraps against stone and his view of the sky is momentarily blocked by June. She leans over and presses a most motherly kiss against his forehead. “Get some rest. You’ve been through an ordeal.”
He smiles again and she pats his cheek before leaving.
The warmth and the breeze are a heady combination, and maybe he’s just drunk on freedom and not the bubbly. Neal moves over to the lounger and stretches out. Of course his mind goes back to yesterday and everything that happened.
It’s inevitable, of course, that he also has to remember his interlude with Anderson. But that’s okay – Peter’s free and that makes everything worth it. Neal also has to cherish the memory of waking up in Peter’s arms, the warmth, the safety of that moment. If he ever had any doubts that he was loved, that moment erased them all.
Neal saves and savors the memory of the rest of that morning: saving Peter’s life, Peter holding him, bandaging him, kissing him, loving him.
His phone rings. It’s Moz. He doesn’t want to answer it, but he knows that Moz will keep calling until Neal does.
“Hey there.” He knows he sounds a little apathetic. Appropriately, he doesn’t care.
“Ira’s been in contact with you-know-who.”
Neal appreciates that Moz doesn’t mention his father’s name. “And?”
“The client’s asked for the documents to be ready a few days sooner. He’s getting out of the country.”
“And?”
“Ira’s agreed. He called to tell me that they’re all but done – just waiting for the ink to dry. I’ve called the Suits and it’s all systems go for tomorrow.”
“And Ira’s still cooperative?”
“Yeah – he’s naturally reluctant to allow the Feds into his workshop and I’ve had to promise to help him move after the Feds clear out – but Ira’s cool.”
Neal’s absorbed by the shape of one of the clouds overhead. It reminds him of a butterfly, or maybe a hummingbird. The breeze picks up and now it’s a raptor stooping for its prey.
“Neal? Neal?”
He turns his attention back to the conversation. “Yeah, Moz?”
“Do you want to be part of the takedown? I could probably get the Demi-Suits to let you watch.”
Neal has to smile at that – Moz is very chummy with Diana and Clinton now. “No – let them do their job. I’ve got nothing to say to Bennett.”
Moz chatters a bit more, filling the space with sound, telling him that it looks like Calloway’s on her way down and out. Neal’s happy to let Moz talk until his phone chirps with call-waiting. He checks – it’s Peter. Neal abruptly tells Moz that he has to go.
Neal sits up. “Hey there.”
“Hey, yourself.”
He laughs. “What are we, teenagers?”
Peter shares his amusement. “You doing okay?”
Neal tells him about the doctor visit. “He says it’ll heal fine. Keep the arm covered until it scabs over, don’t strain the muscles. The usual.” He isn’t going to mention the blood tests, though, and then thinks better of it. “He’s also checking me for hepatitis and HIV.” Neal pauses, and voices his one regret. “I shouldn’t have let you go in bare.”
“Were you clean before?”
“Yes.”
“Have you had unprotected sex since your last blood test?”
“No.” He doesn’t have to even think about that. Carter had suited up, and he and Sara were always careful.
“Then there’s nothing to worry about.” That’s that, and Peter changes the subject. “Have you heard from Moz? He’s had word from your forger friend about James.”
“Yeah – he told me.” Neal wishes Peter wouldn’t call him James, like he’s a friend or someone that should matter to him. “Diana and Clinton have everything under control.” He doesn’t want to talk about it anymore.
Peter senses his distress with the conversation, because he drops it and asks, instead, “What are you doing?”
“Finding pictures in the clouds.”
“Pareidolia.”
Neal laughs. “Trust you to know the technical name.”
“Hmm.”
Neal lets the sound of Peter’s voice rumble through him. He has to ask, though. “How’s Elizabeth?”
There’s a pause and it’s just too significant for Neal’s peace of mind. “She’s doing okay.”
“You told me I had nothing to worry about.” And so Neal now has to worry.
“And you don’t. El’s fine. We’re fine. It’s just going to take more than a night and a day to settle back into the normal pace of things.”
He’s not convinced, but he’s not going to make Peter upset by dragging this out. “You’re doing okay?”
“I am, now. The whole drive home, I was a little out of it, everything seemed so hyper real.”
“Yeah – it’s like that.” Neal’s experienced that each time he’s gotten out.
“But when I got home and Satchmo was barking and jumping on me like a puppy when I came through the door, I just – well – lost it. I couldn’t stop crying. I – I thought I’d never see him again. He’s not a young dog and if I never got out …” Peter sounds like he’s on the verge of tears and Neal wants to cry, too.
“If I ever needed an excuse to get you out of there, that was it.”
“I didn’t say it before, but I need to now. Thank you, Neal – for everything.”
Neal understands there is so much more behind those simple words. It’s there and it doesn’t need to be spoken of because they’ve both acknowledged it.
The silence between them is comfortable and Neal finds that he’s actually happy. It’s like the bubble in Champagne rising to the surface, fizzing in his brain, his bones. Even when Peter says that he has to go (and he can hear Elizabeth and Satchmo in the background), Neal’s still happy.
Elizabeth isn’t a stupid woman. Nor is she blind. She knows that something happened to Peter in prison and she doesn’t know if she can bear to wait for Peter to tell her.
After his breakdown – which was traumatic but in its own way, perfectly normal – Peter returned to the man she’s loved for so many years. He’s worried, of course, about finding Neal’s father, he’s worried that he could go to prison for a crime he didn’t commit, he’s worried that even if that doesn’t happen, he’s lost his job. He’s worried about Diana and Clinton. He’s worried about her. He’s worried about everything.
Except Neal, apparently.
For the better part of a day, Neal Caffrey’s name doesn’t cross his lips. Peter’s talked with Claude; he’s talked with Diana, with Clinton, with Reese and even with Moz. But he doesn’t call Neal (at least not in her hearing range) and Neal doesn’t come over.
She’s not stupid and she’s not blind and for the better part of the last three years, she’s teasingly urged Peter to do what he’s wanted to do ever since he first met Neal Caffrey. She’s even been serious about bringing him into their bed. Of course she knows that he’ll never act on those desires, not as long as he’s holding Neal’s leash. But it not like that’s going to last forever, right?
And she expected Peter to seal the deal in Cape Verde, but Moz and Kyle Collins were apparently too effective as cock blockers. And there was also the girl from the coffee shop. El was disappointed when Peter came home and told her what didn’t happen. Intensely disappointed.
It’s driving her crazy that Peter’s acting like Neal doesn’t exist. It’s obvious that something happened between them in jail and it’s either very good or really terrible and Elizabeth’s afraid to push, she’s afraid of what she’ll find out.
She’s waiting for Peter to come out of the shower, again. In the twenty-four hours that he’s been home, he’s taken at least four, maybe five showers. She can understand that – he wants to wash away the stink of his incarceration. The shame of it. Then her soul grows cold. Maybe he needs to wash away something else. Peter had laughed off the black eye that first morning, but maybe he was hurt worse that he let on.
She panics and runs into the bathroom. Peter’s still in the shower and he’s … he’s masturbating.
She’s worried that he was raped and the bastard’s in the shower jerking off?
Elizabeth takes a deep breath and calms down. Getting angry won’t solve anything. She just waits for him to finish and as she watches, she realizes it’s actually kind of arousing. Peter doesn’t know she’s there. He’s working himself in his fist, really pulling at his cock and she rubs her thighs together. She can’t help herself, her hand cups her cunt, pressing the seam of her jeans against her clit in the same rhythm as Peter’s strokes. It’s dirty and perverse and she bites her lip as she comes. Peter comes and she shudders from her own aftershocks.
Peter looks up and sees her. He rinses, turns off the shower and opens the glass door. El doesn’t say a word, just hands her husband a towel, gives him a look and walks out.
She goes into the bedroom and sits down on the bed. She doesn’t understand – she can’t figure this out – but she knows it has something to do with Neal.
Peter’s got a bathrobe on; his hair’s uncombed and poking out all over the place. He looks kind of adorable and El can’t help but smile. She pats the bed and Peter sits down next to her. “Tell me what’s going on. My imagination is only going to make it worse.”
“Neal and I … we – “ Peter stops and looks at her. It’s not precisely guilt on his face.
El makes it easy on him. “Slept together?”
Peter blushes. “Yeah, that too.”
She laughs and pushes at him, she has to. “Why the coyness? Why are you practically pretending Neal doesn’t exist? Do you regret it?”
Peter takes an audibly deep breath, like he’s gearing himself up for something unpleasant. “No, not at all. It’s just – well – it’s complicated.”
El doesn’t see that. “I’ve been telling you to go after him for years. How complicated can it be?”
“Hon – you were so angry at him. You blamed him for this. You said that if I hadn’t gotten involved with his life, none of this would have happened. So yeah, I feel a little guilty about it.” Peter wraps an arm around here. “And honestly, it’s a little weird to come home, have this huge emotional breakdown, and then tell you that I had sex with Neal.”
She can see his point, and she has to clear the air. “I was angry at Neal. Was. I’m not anymore.”
“Because he saved my life?”
“Maybe that’s part of it, but also – you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t get involved.” El sighs. “I remember Jimmy Burger. You didn’t stand back with him, either. And his death broke your heart a little, too.”
“El …” Peter pulls her close and she buries her face in his shoulder. They sit like that for a few minutes, remaking the connections between them.
“Was it good?” The imp in her, the little devil that regrets not being witness to Peter and Neal’s first kiss, makes her ask.
Peter chuckles, “Yeah.” Then he turns serious. “Neal – he was afraid that he’d hurt you, that you’d hate him even more than you already do.”
“Have you talked to him since you’ve been home?”
“I spoke with him a couple of hours ago, when you were out with Satchmo. I just didn’t want to make things worse.” Peter’s voice trails off and El understands.
“How is he?”
“He’s okay.”
But El doesn’t quite believe Peter. She’s not sure that Peter even believes it, himself. “He’s all alone – that’s wrong. He should be here, with us. We should be with him.”
“El…”
She pulls herself out of Peter’s arms and stands, hands on her hips. She’s as determined as she was fourteen years ago, when she decided that this goofy, gorgeous and slightly dangerous man was going to be her husband. “I’m going to go and get Neal. You have any problems with that?”
His smile is the only answer she needs.
It’s New York and it’s summertime and the weather changes between one moment and the next. Neal’s lazing in the sunshine, his eyes closed, and he lets his mind drift. The thoughts are scattered, diffuse. The light paints rainbows and stars and bursting skyrockets behind his eyelids until a chill wind, damp with rain, makes him open his eyes.
The blue skies are a memory (for the moment). The wind picks up. Neal scrambles to put the cover on the lounger and get inside before the downpour starts. It’s a close run thing. He pulls the French doors shut just as the sky goes black and the deluge begins. He stands at the door, watching the chaos outside. It’s only mid-afternoon, but it’s as dark as midnight. The rain pauses as lightening pierces the sky, followed by a peal of thunder loud enough to send the glass doors rattling.
He doesn’t mind giving up the sunshine for the storm. He likes the feeling of the dramatic, mid-day darkness, the deep and unexpected shadows. Maybe it’s the feeling of sanctuary, that the world could go a little crazy, but here, inside this room, he is safe. It’s a feeling not unlike the moment after the attack on Peter, when they were hustled back to their cell. The building’s old, the seals are imperfect, and some moisture creeps through, dripping down the glass. He traces the path with a finger, even as the thunder peals again, making everything shake.
But it’s New York and it’s summertime and the weather changes between one moment and the next. The storm moves off, leaving who knows what kind of damage in its wake, and the sun burns through the remnants of the dark clouds, gilding their edges in gold and silver.
Neal’s reminded of a Turner or some massive canvas from the Hudson River School – maybe The Oxbow – and he wonders if that should be his next project. He hasn’t attempted a landscape in a long time. But his thoughts turn bleak; Neal can’t forget that conversation with James.
He tells himself it doesn’t matter. Biology may count for something, but it’s not everything. He may not know exactly who he is yet, but if the last few days have taught him anything at all, it’s that he’s not his father’s son.
Neal George Caffrey is thirty-four years old and he’s a work in progress. He can live with that.
There’s a roll of canvas and some stretcher frames in his closet and Neal’s about to go get them when someone knocks on his door. It’s not Moz – the knock is not in iambic pentameter. It’s not Peter, who raps with a lot more authority. And it’s not June, she’s left for the day.
Whoever is there is impatient and knocks again.
Neal doesn’t bother asking who it is – which is probably stupid and careless – and just pulls open the door. He’s shocked. It’s Elizabeth and she looks like a drowned kitten.
He pulls her inside and the questions spill out in a breathless, panicked rush. “Is it Peter? What’s happened? Have they taken him back to prison?”
Elizabeth’s smile is radiant. “No, Peter’s fine. He’s home, catching up on things, playing with the dog, jerking off. Nothing to worry about.”
Neal blinks. Did Elizabeth actually say that Peter was jerking off? No, he must have imagined that.
“Umm – do you have a towel or something?” Elizabeth gestures to her wet hair and soaked shirt. Neal can’t help but notice her nipples peaking under the fabric.
“Oh, sure – hold on.” He sits her down and runs and gets her a towel and a Japanese haori that he’s used as a robe on occasion.
She thanks him. “Now, turn your back and be a gentleman.” Despite her words, she doesn’t wait for Neal to look away as she pulls off her soaked tee-shirt. Before he can turn around, Neal catches a glimpse of the ivory-white skin on her midriff and the silk-satin fabric of her bra, a shade darker.
“Okay – all covered up. It’s safe to look.”
El’s got the robe on, but it’s a men’s garment and fits a little snug across the front. Neal keeps his eyes averted from the gap that gets wider as Elizabeth pulls a brush from her handbag and works it through her hair before drawing it back into a ponytail.
It’s just a moments and Elizabeth Burke’s transformed from drowned kitten back into the determined woman he knows so well. The transformation is actually unnerving.
“Coffee? A glass of wine?”
“Coffee would be good, I could use something to warm me up.” Elizabeth shakes out her shirt and rolls it up into the towel to make it dry a little faster.
Neal fusses with the coffeepot, concentrating on getting the measurements just right. Delaying tactics are all well and good, but they can’t be strung out indefinitely. He makes Elizabeth’s coffee (a splash of cream, no sugar), pours a glass of wine for himself and sits at the opposite end of the table.
She smiles at him. It’s a combination of affection and understanding and something else that Neal can’t pin down. He knows she’s grateful to him for helping Peter through the ordeal in prison. Okay, for saving Peter’s life. But gratitude isn’t affection and Elizabeth has every right to be furious with him. But she’s not.
Neal can’t take it any longer. Elizabeth’s looking at him over her coffee cup, smiling at him like she’s the Mona Lisa, and he just has to ask. “If everything’s all right at home, why are you here?”
She leans forward, resting her arms on the table, and her look is even more puzzling. It’s warmer, more affectionate than he expected. “I wanted to know how you are doing.”
Neal smiles back, hoping he looks reassuring. “I’m good. It’s not like I haven’t gotten out of prison before.” He goes on, trying to be witty and entertaining. “June and I were just saying this morning that we’ve got our own post-release ritual now. A Continental breakfast on the terrace, complete with Italian roast, croissants and Champagne.”
Elizabeth doesn’t seem entertained. Her gaze is thoughtful. Then she drops her bombshell. “Peter and I talked. He told me what happened between you two.”
Neal freezes and carefully puts his wineglass on the table before it falls out of his hand. Of course Peter would tell Elizabeth. Neal knows that there are no secrets between this husband and wife. And he remembers Peter’s admonition, “Don’t worry.” But he can’t help but worry. And yet, Elizabeth doesn’t look upset or angry. She looks … happy. That was the quality he couldn’t define before. “Elizabeth – ” He starts to speak but for the life of him, he can’t figure out what to say. He can’t apologize and he can’t lie.
She takes mercy on him. “It’s okay, Neal. It’s more than okay.” She moves to the chair next to him. “I’ve been telling Peter that he’s been a fool for waiting so long. But you know him; there are lines that he won’t cross, even when you’re involved.” Her hand on his arm is like a kiss of fire.
“You know? You’ve known?” Neal wonders just how obvious he’s been about his feelings for Peter.
But Elizabeth is talking Peter’s feelings for him. “He’s loved you for a long time; he’s wanted you even longer than that.”
“He’s loved you …” Everything stops in the breath between those words. Neal knows that Peter loves him. He’s always known, in a way. But hearing the confirmation from Elizabeth makes that knowledge just a bit more real. The world starts spinning again. “And you’re okay with that?”
“I love Peter, he loves me – there is no doubt or question about that. And he loves you, too. I think, maybe, if he didn’t love you, if it was just lust, I’d feel differently.” Her hand slides down his arm and slips into his hand. There’s something tentative about her touch, as if she’s asking permission. He holds her hand like it’s a butterfly at rest, and then brings it up to his lips.
“Thank you.” Neal has a feeling that there’s more to Elizabeth’s words than this. They are a palimpsest. There’s something underneath what she’s just told him and he’ll need time to remove the layers and get to her hidden meaning.
“Come home with me.” There’s no hidden code in that request. “Peter needs you – we need you.” Her hand squeezes his, as tight as a vise.
Neal knows this: he can’t deny Elizabeth anything she wants. Especially when he wants the same thing.
Diana’s watching through the slats of louvered bathroom door, her gun drawn. Clinton’s in a closet at the other end of the loft, also watching and waiting. They’re on radio silence since surveillance in the van notified them that James Bennett was spotted a block away. They don’t want to go after him on the street. It would be too easy for him to run, for them to lose him for good.
She’s got eyes on Ira – first name only, please – and she worries. He’s nervous, pacing and biting at his nails. His eyes keep going to the bathroom where she’s hidden, to the closet where Clinton is. He’s made it clear that he’s doing this only as a favor to Neal and to Moz. He doesn’t like the FBI – that goes without saying – and she worries that his hatred of the Feds will trump his friendship with Neal and Moz and he’ll blow everything.
Ira’s in the business of making false identification and they really should bust him for every single one of the fake passport blanks in his workshop. But they don’t, because catching James Bennett is a lot more important.
She wishes that she had more current intel. The waiting game is getting to her and if Ira looks at the bathroom door one more time, she’s going to twist his nuts off.
Patience does pay off. Diana hears the loft’s elevator begin to grind to life. It’s old and it’s slow and she counts her heartbeats wait for it to stop. So far, so good. Ira’s following the plan; he’s staying in the middle of the room, waiting for Bennett to come to him.
Metal clangs and gears groan as the elevator door opens. Bennett steps into the loft and calls out, “You there?”
This is when it could all go to shit.
“Yeah, in here.” Ira’s still on the playbook.
“You finish the work?”
“Yeah – you got my money?”
Bennett’s in view, they could take him now. There was some discussion about letting the exchange be made, to get Bennett on some additional Federal charges. Clinton’s leading the op, so the timing of the take down’s his call.
Bennett hands the money to Ira and Ira gives him a manila envelope.
She hears Clinton’s voice through her earpiece. “Target’s in sight, exchange complete, we’re a go.”
She acts on the signal, bursting out of her concealment with her gun pointed at Bennett. She’s shouting “FBI, hands up and to get down on your knees.” Clinton’s calling on the same instructions, advancing on Neal’s father with his gun aimed straight at his face.
Bennett’s hand goes down and Diana spots the silver of a pistol grip. She shouts “gun” and tackles Bennett, pulling his arm back. They both hit the ground. She pushes a knee into the base of his spine, immobilizing him and it’s only a matter of seconds before she’s got the cuffs on his wrists.
Clinton pulls Bennett to his feet and takes the gun out of his waistband. “What have we got here?”
Diana answers, since James certainly won’t. “Looks like the late Senator’s pistol – the one his bodyguard said he was never without.”
Clinton completes the formalities, reading Bennett his rights. They are both sort of shocked when he gets belligerent, demanding, “What are the charges?
“Let’s start with possession of a stolen firearm and go from there.” Agents pour into the loft, but neither Diana nor Clinton will surrender James Bennett to anyone. They’re going to escort him through every step of the processing. No one’s taking any chances.
It’s a little after five and Reese feels like he could sleep for a week. It’s a hot and airless afternoon and there’s no promise it’s going to cool off any time soon. He’s grateful to find a parking spot near Peter and Elizabeth’s house because he’s too damn weary to trek through the streets of Cobble Hill. He’s had too much coffee and not enough food – typical of long stakeouts followed by longer interrogations – and thinks, So much for retirement.
But that’s not to say Reese isn’t looking forward to the task at hand.
He climbs the front steps with more vigor than he thinks possible and rings the bell. The Burkes’ dog is barking and the curtain over the front door shifts. It’s Elizabeth and she opens the door, clearly surprised to see him.
He as a weird moment of déjà vu. Was it really three years since he came here to warn Peter about Fowler and the alleged bribery? Those were simpler days.
“Reese?”
“Can I come in, Elizabeth?” The dog, a big, yellow creature, is sniffing at his feet.
She steps aside, but not before reaching down and pulling the dog away from him. He is a little sorry for that. He likes dogs, and the bigger, the better.
Of course she asks, “Is everything okay?”
He doesn’t answer. “Is Peter home?”
“Yes, we’re out on the patio.” She pats the dog’s rear to send him off to his bed under the air conditioner and takes Reese outside.
Reese isn’t surprised to see Caffrey with Peter. They’ve each got a bottle of beer and look up at his intrusion. At first glance, both men look well, but there’s a certain wariness there, too.
Peter stands and takes his hand before offering him a seat. Caffrey just looks at him.
“What brings you here?”
He decides it’s better to get right to the point, no need to string this out. “James Bennett was arrested early this morning. He’s confessed to shooting Terrence Pratt, but insists that it was an act of self-defense.”
“If he’s confessed, does this mean that the charges against Peter will be dropped? That Peter will be reinstated?” Neal’s first concern is about Peter, it’s always like that.
“The U.S. Attorney’s office has been informed of Bennett’s statements and there should be a hearing later today or tomorrow.”
“Oh, thank God.” Elizabeth reaches out for her husband, and then for him. “Thank you, Reese.”
Peter thanks him, too, and then gives him a questioning look. “Of all the people I expected to get this news from, you were the last one on the list. Not that I don’t appreciate you coming here to tell us, but aren’t you supposed to be retired?”
He rubs the back of his neck, mildly amused, mildly ill at ease. “Yeah, well, about that.”
There’s a perceptive look in Caffrey’s eyes. He’s probably spoken with the short one and knows what’s going on.
“Reese?” Peter’s impatient, but that impatience is couched in a dawning comprehension.
“Someone filed a report with OPR about Amanda Calloway. Apparently there’s a recording of a telephone call of her tipping off Senator Pratt about the investigation. OPR’s investigating and she may even be facing criminal charges.”
“Really? I’m horrified that a veteran agent would conspire with a politically connected target of a corruption investigation. I have to wonder how the call got recorded and how OPR got hold of it.”
Reese is amused at how Peter tries to sound shocked. Of course he knows about the recording, and Caffrey does, too. The show is for the benefit of Elizabeth and the off chance that there’s someone listening.
Reese chuckles, it’s a good performance. “Don’t look at me – the first I heard about it was when the Assistant Director asked me to come back and temporarily oversee the division, until permanent a replacement can be found.”
“Asked?” Now Peter doesn’t bother to hide the laughter.
“Okay, begged. But it’s not a long-term thing. I agreed on two conditions. First – that I’ll only stay until they find a replacement. And …” Reese pauses. He knows the value of showmanship and he’s got an appreciative audience. “My second condition is that I will head the selection committee for that replacement.”
Peter’s quick, too quick to respond. “Even if I get my job back, I don’t want yours, Reese. Don’t put me on the short list. I love field work too much.”
Typical Peter Burke. “You’ll have your badge back, don’t worry about that. It’s amazing how many more influential friends I’ve got now.” Reese doesn’t tell Peter that his name will be the only one on the list. He’ll just have to learn to manage the administrative side of things.
They talk about procedure for a little while, tactics for dealing with the inevitable administrative hearing. Elizabeth offers him a beer, which he declines. He gratefully accepts, though, her offer of an iced coffee. He turns to Peter. “Can I have a few minutes with Neal?”
The Burkes and Caffrey look startled, but Peter and Elizabeth leave him with Neal.
Neal’s toying with his beer bottle, chipping away at the paper label with his thumbnail. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t flinch at his gaze, either. This isn’t a man who breaks easily, if at all, Reese thinks.
“Your father – “
“You mean James Bennett.” Neal’s tone is leaden.
“Yes, he – ”
Neal cuts him off again. “Please – don’t refer to him as ‘my father’.”
“As you wish.” He understands Neal all too well. “James Bennett didn’t confess easily. He declined a lawyer, but he refused to talk about what happened with Pratt. He refused to talk at all after we brought him in.”
“He’s a selfish bastard, so that doesn’t surprise me.” Neal’s retort is calm, measured, as if he’s weighing the cost of every word.
“You should know that it wasn’t until Berrigan told him if Peter went to prison for Pratt’s murder, that your deal with the FBI would be revoked, that we even got a reaction out of Bennett. He didn’t start talking until Jones said you were back in jail, waiting for a transfer to Sing-Sing, where you’d serve out the rest of your sentence.”
Neal blinks, the only sign he’s affected by this information. “Clinton lied, then. I’ve been out since yesterday afternoon.”
“We’re the FBI; we can lie during an interrogation.”
“For the record, I don’t have a problem with that. There’s nothing wrong with lying, especially to serve the greater good.” Neal shakes his head.
Of course Caffrey would see it like that. “Neal, James Bennett would have said nothing, he wouldn’t have confessed to shooting Pratt, he would have been held on a few minor charges and probably walked away if it wasn’t for that lie. He only confessed because he cares about you.”
Neal looks him in the eye, his face hard. “If he is a good man, he wouldn’t have run after shooting Pratt. Peter wouldn’t have had to take the fall for him, he wouldn’t have been arrested. Bad men can do good things, but they are still bad. Whatever Bennett’s motivations are, he’s still a corrupt cop, a liar and a thief and a murderer. Nothing changes that.”
Reese’s heart fills with compassion. It must be a terrible thing to be so disillusioned. “Every child deserves to have a father he can look up to.”
Neal nods, his gaze going off into the distance.
He has one more thing he wants to tell Caffrey. “I don’t know if it makes any difference, if it makes anything easier, but I would have been proud to call you son. You’re a good man, Neal Caffrey, never doubt that.”
Reese enjoys the shocked look on Neal’s face. He’s glad he’ll have the chance to spend a little more time with him.
Neal watches Hughes and Peter and Elizabeth through the window. They are laughing, at ease with each other. He doesn’t mind being apart from them for the moment, now that the worst of it is over.
He thinks that the past few days are like the yesterday afternoon’s storm, going from brilliant sunshine to unexpected darkness and danger and back to blue skies and sunshine. Almost as if the trauma never happened.
Almost.
He sees Hughes give Peter a genial clap on the shoulder and kiss Elizabeth’s cheek. He’s leaving. Neal thinks about going in to say goodbye, too. But come Monday morning, he’ll be at his desk, working. He’s pretty sure that Hughes will find something to keep him busy and relatively out of trouble until Peter’s back where he belongs.
After a few minutes, Peter and Elizabeth join him on the patio. Peter takes away the now-warm beer bottle and replaces it with a glass of iced coffee. “What did Hughes want to talk to you about?”
Of course Peter’s curious, but Neal brushes the question off. “Not important.” That’s not completely true, because Neal is always going to treasure Hughes’ last comments.
Peter sees, he understands. And Elizabeth does, too. They take his hands, pulling him into a gentle embrace. This is his family. He loves and is loved.
Nothing more needs to be said.
Tags:
- character: clinton jones,
- character: diana berrigan,
- character: elizabeth burke,
- character: mozzie,
- character: neal caffrey,
- character: ofc,
- character: omc,
- character: peter burke,
- character: reese hughes,
- genre: angst,
- genre: emotional trauma,
- genre: episode tag,
- genre: family,
- genre: friendship,
- genre: hurt/comfort,
- genre: pre-ot3,
- genre: prison fic,
- genre: slash,
- kink: barebacking,
- kink: dub-con/non-con,
- pairing: neal/peter,
- pairing: peter/elizabeth,
- type: fan fiction,
- type: longfic,
- white collar,
- year: 2013
no subject
Date: 2013-05-01 07:02 pm (UTC)I can't begin to tell you how much it moved me, from Neal's devotion to Peter right down to Hughes (ZOMG HUGHES!!! ♥). Everyone was so in character (as usual in your fics) and it almost read like an episode! The ending really killed me.
I might just have to read and re-read this again...and again...and again... *bookmarks*