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elrhiarhodanTitle: The Strength to Dream Is All That Remains - Part II - A Wonder(ful) Years Story
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, Reese Hughes, Jack Franklin, OMC, OFC, Peter Burke/Neal Caffrey, Jack Franklin/OFC
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Discussion of HIV/AIDS, expressions of homophobia, sexist appellations
Word Count: ~12,200 (two parts)
Beta Credit:coffeethyme4me, theatregirl7299 and jrosemary
Summary: In the aftermath of the events first told in Heaven for the Hunger, Poison for the Pain, where Neal might have been exposed to HIV/AIDS, Neal’s colleagues rally to him, they have his back and make it known that he’s very much part of the team.
This story also ties up some loose ends in It's Life That Just Sharpens the Blade and What Doesn't Bend, Breaks.
Author's Notes: Written for the lovelyangelita26, who asked me to write more of the story from Heaven for the Hunger, on my Timestamps Meme. Now, technically, a timestamp is a short outtake of a much longer story, but not in this case. The original fic was 2000 words, this one is six times longer.
Fills the "Coming Out" Square on my Trope Bingo Card, and the "Wildcard" square on my Love Bingo Card.
Title from Dougie MacLean’s “Hearts Can Never Hide”.
Go To Part I: On LJ | On DW
__________________
Reese Hughes never wanted a shot of whiskey more than he did right now. It wasn’t even the whiskey, but the oblivion it promised.
He took Neal to the West Side Clinic, figuring that a dedicated AIDS/HIV center would get the results faster than a regular doctor’s office. Hughes didn’t let Neal go in alone, but he hadn’t expected Neal to ask him to stay even through the confidential portion of the pre-test interview. Even though Neal had explained that he was getting tested because of a needle stick, not because of unsafe sex, the bored lab tech asked some exceedingly personal questions. Reese had tried to leave, but Neal clung to his hand and said, “Please.”
The technician ran through the list of questions, scribbling down the answers Neal gave.
“Are you sexually active?”
“Yes.”
“How many sex partners have you had in the last six months?”
“One.”
The tech looked at him and then at Neal and shook his head. Hughes wanted to laugh. Neal just gripped his hand a little harder.
“How many male sex partners have you had in the last year?”
“One, and it’s the same partner.”
The tech wasn’t paying attention, or was simply committed to following the script. “And was this the same person?”
Neal sighed. “Yes. And for the record, I’ve only had one male sex partner in my entire life.”
The tech gave him a highly skeptical look before going back to his questionnaire. “Okay, now I’m going to ask you some questions about your sexual practices. Are you sure you want your … companion to stay for this part?”
Neal looked at him. There was so much fear in his eyes that Reese didn’t have the heart to leave. “I’m staying. But isn’t there a form that Neal could just fill out instead of going through this verbal exercise in humiliation?”
The man shrugged. “If you prefer. Most guys like to talk about their sexual activities.” He handed Neal a clip board. “I’ll be back in a few. Try to be as detailed as you can. We need the information.”
Neal’s hand shook as he tried to complete the questionnaire, dropping the pencil four times. “Sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about, son. This is …” He was at a loss for words. Horrible. Terrible. Unthinkable.
“Peter and I – we’ve… we’ve been together since high school. There’s never been anyone else for either of us,” Neal unexpectedly volunteered.
Hughes wasn’t sure what to say. “So, you’ve known each other a long time.” That seemed innocuous enough.
“Since elementary school and we’ve been best friends since seventh grade.” Neal wrapped his arms around himself and whispered, “He saved my life.”
There was a story there, one that Reese didn’t know if he wanted hear.
Neal started shivering. “It’s so cold in here.”
It wasn’t; the air in the small room was warm and stale. Neal was coming down off the adrenaline rush, his body reacting like he’d been in shock.
Reese sighed. He could handle any crisis thrown at him, but the mop-up? Not his forte. He wasn’t good with invalids or small crying children, not even his own. He sighed again and wrapped an arm around the younger man’s shoulders. Neal stiffened for an instant, then relaxed, accepting the comfort offered.
Hughes wanted to tell him it would be okay, that the odds were against there being anything communicable on the needle. But that was a lie. He had no way of knowing and anything he could say would be false hope at best.
It seemed like they sat in that white room for an eternity. The posters on the wall warned about practicing unsafe sex, warned about the dangers of sharing needles. There was even one with a detailed list of instructions for the safe disposal of the blood drawing equipment. He had them memorized by time the technician returned.
He held Neal’s jacket and his cufflink and watched as the tech drew two vials of blood. One for the HIV test, the other for hepatitis. He listened as the man gave Neal instructions on when to call and how to ask for the results. Neal’s hands were still shaking as he took the little white card with his number. The tech left and Reese wanted to get Neal out of there, get him home and into a familiar, less threatening environment.
Except that Neal couldn’t seem to put himself back together. His hands were shaking worse now than when he was filling out the questionnaire, and while Hughes would have just shoved the cufflink into his pocket and put his jacket on, Caffrey seemed intent on restoring himself to absolute sartorial perfection.
“Hold on, let me help you.” He took Neal’s hand, ironically the one that was stuck. It was still sporting that innocuous bandage – a few square inches of pinkish-beige vinyl – and in some quixotic gesture, Reese rubbed his thumb over it, over Neal’s sweaty palm, before turning his wrist and fitting the cufflink into place.
He was struck by a memory, one of his father, as he had helped him put on his first set of cufflinks, then stood back and looked at him with pride.
Hughes helped Neal back into his suit jacket and he led him through the clinic and back to his car. Maybe it was the clarity of the late-afternoon sunlight, the cool breeze blowing through the canyons of Midtown, but Neal seemed to regain some of himself and was about to start walking uptown, but Reese grabbed his arm.
“Let me take you home, son.”
“I can walk.”
“Yes, of course you can, but you shouldn’t.” He actually manhandled Neal, pushing him towards the government-issue black sedan. “Don’t be stubborn.”
“It’s almost rush hour – it’ll be faster if I walk.”
“Agent Caffrey, get in the car. That’s an order.”
Neal gave him a small, tight smile and obeyed.
“Where to?”
“82nd and Riverside.”
Contrary to Neal’s expectations and the hour, the trip uptown took less than fifteen minutes. Hughes knew where Neal lived, but Neal must have forgotten as he gave him directions and then told him to stop at a granite-clad fortress, guarded by a red-coated doorman. And even though he'd been here before, it was still startling to connect the FBI agent he knew with this palatial residence. He knew that Neal had money, it was just startling to see it so manifest.
“Do you want me to come up with you?”
“No, but thank you. I really appreciate this. I don’t know how I would have managed if you weren’t there.”
Hughes shook his head. “Nothing to thank me for. Are you sure you want to be alone?”
“Peter’s coming back from Quantico tonight. I won’t be alone for long.” Neal unbuckled the seat belt and before he could open the car door, the doorman rushed over to do it for him. “Thank you, sir.”
“Caffrey – if you need to, stay home tomorrow. Burke can, too. There’s nothing that the team can’t cover.”
Neal ducked his head, his smile a faint shadow of his usual grin. “Thanks.”
The car door shut with a politely emphatic thunk. Before Reese pulled away from the curb, into the stream of traffic, he watched Caffrey disappear into his building and thought that of all the agents he’d trained over the decades, Neal Caffrey was the only one he thought of as a son.
He should be so lucky.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
It was full dark by the time Peter coaxed Neal out of the spare bedroom. “You need to eat.”
“I can’t - I’ll throw up. Hell, I might throw up even if I don’t eat.”
“Okay, but you’re not staying in here all night.” He was talking to Neal like he was a small, stubborn child, his tone firm, brooking no disagreement. But still full of love. “Come on.” Peter held out a hand and after a moment, and then another, Neal took it and Peter pulled him to his feet.
Neal allowed himself to be manhandled and Peter pushed him into their bedroom. He stripped Neal out of his suit, taking care of it the way Neal would do himself. He sat Neal down on the bed and knelt at his feet, taking off his shoes and socks, rubbing away the slight indentations that the expensive leather left on his feet.
From this angle, looking up at Neal - his skin illuminated by the single bedside lamp - he seemed ethereal, not quite connected to this world anymore. Peter’s heart skittered and raced and he tried not to think of what Neal had just asked of him. ”You promised me, Peter. You won’t let me suffer. Not like that. If you can’t do it, just make sure I’m strong enough to hold my gun.”
Overcome, Peter rested his head in Neal’s lap and tried not to weep and failed. He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Sorry.”
Neal’s fingers curled in his hair, but he didn’t say anything. Peter could feel the slight tremors that still ran through his partner’s frame.
His own emotions were still in turmoil, but he needed to be strong. He needed to give Neal the strength to face an uncertain future, the strength to dream even when all he wanted was oblivion. He needed to renege on a promise he’d just made because there was no way he’d let Neal die. There was no way he’d let this man give up a single moment before he absolutely had to. Because without Neal, he was nothing.
The five months they spent apart proved it - he had damned himself on that. And he’d be damned if he had to live a single moment without this man in his world.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Today is the first day of the rest of your life. Neal remembered the first time he read that. It had been on a poster or a painting in the waiting room in his pediatrician’s office and he’d been seven or eight years old.
”What does that mean, Mommy?”
His mother smiled at him and stroked the curl that always drooped down on his forehead.
“It means that every day, you wake up and it’s a new chance to put aside what happened yesterday and start again.”
If only that were possible.
Peter didn’t insist that he eat, but he pulled and pushed and prodded him into the shower and washed him from head to toe, as if he could wash away the stain of what had happened, of what was going to happen.
Peter had washed him, rinsed him, dried him, and carried him back to bed. Neal had struggled, protesting that Peter would damage his newly healed shoulder.
“It’s fine. I just spent the last three days at Quantico completing the physical fitness tests from the Academy training program. If I could haul myself over a twenty-foot cargo net and climb a brick wall hand over hand, I can do this.” Peter had lifted him up and carried him like a damned bride back into the bedroom.
Under any other circumstance, Neal would have thrilled to the unaccustomed display of macho behavior. Right now, he just wanted to bury himself under the covers, shut out the world, and forget the day ever happened.
Neal didn’t move, but he had watched as Peter puttered around their bedroom, unpacking his travel bag, hanging up Neal’s suit, putting everything back into its proper place. These were things that he’d ordinarily take care of; things that Peter was doing now because Peter knew that he’d be restless if they weren’t done.
Only when Peter climbed into bed next to him, when he draped a heavy arm over Neal’s waist and pulled him back, tight against his body – the way he had every night they’d shared a bed – did some of the terrible tension leave him.
Peter pressed his lips against the back of his neck, against the apple of his shoulder, before whispering in his ear, “Whatever the test results are, they will change nothing. I love you, Neal. Through thick and thin. In sickness and in health. “
He could hear the tears in Peter’s voice, the anguish, and something in Neal twisted – a beautiful, perfect memory. “For the ends of being and ideal grace.”
“Yes, Neal. Yes.”
The rest of the poem unscrolled in his mind, the words that they didn’t speak to each other that night, the last lines, I love thee with the breath, / Smiles, tears, of all my life! – / and, if God choose, / I shall but love thee better after death. He moaned, and a sob rose from the pit of his soul, animal-like in its harshness. Neal couldn’t cry. He didn’t seem to have any tears left.
Peter reached out and rolled him over, tucking him into the shelter of his arms and they both cried, for the fear, the loss, for the damned unfairness of everything.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Peter wasn’t sure that going into the office today was the best thing for Neal. But he wasn’t sure that staying home and worrying was good for him either. He would have insisted that they at least go in late, but Neal had slept and so had he. They were both wrung out and exhausted and they woke up much as they’d fallen asleep, wrapped in each other’s arms.
Waking shortly after dawn, Neal just said, “I have to do something, Peter. I’ll go crazy if I don’t.”
So, in the end, Peter gave in and they went into work as if today was any normal day. Actually, today should have been momentous for him, since the higher-ups had cleared him to return to active duty. For the first time since the shooting, Peter clipped his badge to his belt, put on his holster and gun, and was prepared to head out and face any eventuality.
But it didn’t feel momentous or important, in light of everything else. He looked at Neal as they swayed back and forth on the train and worried. Neal’s words from last night were ringing in his head, and no matter how hard he tried to believe otherwise, Peter knew they weren’t engendered by momentary panic. They’d seen too many friends lose the battle and die in horrific agony. He couldn’t blame Neal for not wanting that future, but to ask him … To expect him to …
He couldn’t even let his brain complete the thought.
The subway came to a stop and they fought their way through the rush of fellow passengers trying to get out.
It was early and the office was mostly empty still. Peter went through his usual morning routine, taking off his holster and gun and locking them in his desk, turning on his computer, making coffee. Neal just stood there; the lost and hopeless look in his eyes was heartbreaking.
“Neal?” He rubbed his partner’s arm, trying to break him out of the loop of despair he was caught in.
That earned him a small, tremulous smile. “I’m okay. I’ll be okay.”
Peter hoped that that was true. He fetched them both cups of the office’s undrinkable brew and settled down to work. The pile of folders on his desk had grown significantly in his three-day absence, and he wondered when his desk became a dumping ground. Jack had mentioned that a new agent was joining the division this week, and Peter figured he could pass some of the less noteworthy assignments onto the guy.
By a quarter to nine, the rest of the staff started wandering in. A couple of analysts, followed by Jack and Amy, who seemed to be standing awfully close to each other. They came over to his desk, smiling - but those smiles wavered a bit as they looked over to Neal.
“How are you doing? The brass sign off?”
“Yup, back on active duty.”
“It's about time you stopped taking up time and space and did some real work.” That was from Amy, but her smile took the sting out of her words.
Other agents stopped by to welcome him back, and Peter was a bit bemused. He'd been on desk and surveillance duty for three months, but everyone was treating him like he was just back from a long convalescence.
Hughes came in, nodded at him and looked at Neal before heading to his office. He had just enough time to finish his now-cold coffee before his desk phone rang. It was Hughes, and would he please come upstairs with his paperwork.
There was actually quite a bit of it. He had signed certifications from each of the training divisions at Quantico plus medical and psych evaluations, plus his own doctors' and surgeons' reports. Technically, until Hughes signed off on everything, he wasn't back on active duty. Before yesterday, there was little risk that his boss would keep him chained to a desk, but since Hughes knew about him and Neal, Peter wondered if he'd be benched prophylactically.
He knocked and Hughes waved him in with a command. “Sit.”
Before he obeyed, Peter handed him the file with his paperwork. Hughes flipped through it, double checking some forms, going back and forth between pages that Peter couldn't see from this angle. It didn't matter, not really. Either he'd be riding a desk for a while longer, or he wouldn't. And to be honest, Peter wasn't sure if being office-bound for the next few days wasn't a bad idea - at least until Neal got his results.
“Are you up to active duty? And I don't mean physically.” Hughes read his mind.
“I don't know, sir.”
“How's Neal doing?”
What could Peter say? “He's coping.”
“I'm sure he is, but stop with the bullshit. I was with him at the clinic.”
Peter sighed. “Honestly, he's wrecked. But he's functioning.” There was no way Peter would tell anyone here what Neal had asked him to do.
“And you?”
“Whatever comes, I'll deal with it. Neal and I…” It was a strange thing to be able to say that to his boss. “We're together in this, it changes nothing.” He echoed his words to Neal from last night.
“If you need time - if Neal needs time - just ask.”
Peter nodded, a little surprised at Hughes' generosity. But Hughes wasn't quite done.
“This is a terrible thing, and there's a lot of uncertainty in both of your lives. That can translate badly in the field. I'm not going to bench either of you, but I will pull you out if I see problems. Got that?”
Peter nodded again. “Yes sir, I do.”
Hughes scrawled his name across the form on the top of his folder. “Okay. You're on active duty, Agent Burke, and it's good to have you back.” He held out his hand. Peter took it and even with everything else, this did feel momentous.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Amy was surprised to see Neal at his desk, perfectly composed and acting like it was any other day. Then she looked a little closer - there were lines of strain at the corners of his mouth and eyes, his hand as it held a cup of coffee shook ever so slightly.
She wanted to go to him and give him a hug. But she had the feeling that he wouldn’t appreciate any sort of demonstrable reminder of what happened. If he was here, at work, then he wanted to be treated like he would be on any other day. Since she wasn’t a hugger even under the best of circumstances, Amy held off.
He did look up as she sat down next to him and she gave him a smile, just the barest twitch of her lips. He smiled back - nothing like the usual Caffrey “life’s wonderful and I’m wonderful” grin that he normally put on, but something a hell of a lot more honest and a hell of a lot more heartbreaking.
“Can’t stand the thought of the office swill this morning. I’m going out for coffee, want one?” Now, that offer was completely out of the ordinary. She never got coffee for anyone else, ever.
“You’re serious?” This got a slightly broader smile.
“As a heart attack. I suppose you’d like one of your fancy espressos, though.”
“I don’t think the deli on the corner makes espresso, Amy.”
“I was going to head over to the new Starbucks over on Reade Street. See what all the fuss is about.”
Neal tilted his head and looked at her. “Wouldn’t mind checking it out myself. Mind if I tag along?”
“Not at all.” The question surprised her, but in truth, she actually welcomed the opportunity. Although her behavior towards Neal had changed considerably since he had come back from his undercover assignment, she hadn’t really gotten the chance to make amends for her past behavior. This might not be the right moment, but it was at least a chance to talk to the man.
As they walked by Hanover’s desk, he grabbed her sleeve. “Going out for coffee? Get me a grande caramel latte.”
She gave him her best stare of doom and he let go of her sleeve. “The coffee pot is over there, get your own.”
Neal looked at her and she just shook her head and mouthed “New guy.”
They didn’t say anything on the trip down to the street, and Amy bit the inside of her lip to stop herself from asking how Neal was doing. Then she realized that perhaps she should ask. Pretending yesterday didn’t happen wasn’t a good idea.
“You okay?”
He shrugged. “I guess so.”
“When will you know?”
Neal sighed. “Five days. I can call for the results next Wednesday.”
“That long?”
“Apparently.”
Amy dodged a dog walker and a half-dozen tiny poodles and stopped at the corner, waiting for the light to change. Neal held out a hand, as if to help her down from the curb. She didn’t know whether to laugh or threaten to cut it off.
Neal, realizing that his chivalric gesture was both inappropriate and unnecessary, gave a huff of laughter and proceeded to walk across the street, leaving her to fight through the crowd. She jogged a little to catch up and lightly smacked him on the back. “Asshole.”
“What did you want me to do, wait until the light turned red again?”
They reached the coffee shop, and of course there was a line out the door. They stood there, the man in a suit in front of them was engrossed in his newspaper and all of a sudden, everything about the moment felt right.
“I'm sorry.”
Neal gave her a puzzled look. “For what? Yesterday wasn't your fault.”
“No - not yesterday. For everything else. For the way I treated you when you came on board, the way I behaved that night at the bar, for making your life miserable for the four years that followed.” She stopped. There it was - her apology. And she waited, barely breathing, expecting Neal to make some snide comment and laugh in her face.
He didn't of course, because that really wasn't like Neal Caffrey. He just looked at her, trying to figure everything out. The seconds passed into minutes and she watched as comprehension hit. His expression softened and something like compassion darkened his eyes. She dreaded his next words more than his laugher and derision. She expected Neal to acknowledge of that she was doing her step and this apology was simply an exercise and not something of any sincerity.
Of course Caffrey, being Caffrey, didn't go there. He simply said, “Apology accepted.”
And that was that.
The line moved slowly and just before they reached the front door, Neal stuck his hands in his pockets, rocked back on his heels and dropped his own bombshell. “So, you and Jack?”
Amy stood there, stunned. How the hell had he figured that out?
“Don't worry - I only saw it because I know what to look for.”
“Yeah, it's not like you haven't had any practice in hiding relationships.”
Neal ducked his head and chuckled. “Exactly. So - like I said, you and Jack? That going on for a while?”
“Not as long as you and Peter, apparently.”
Neal ignored the jab. “He's been chasing you long enough. What made you decide to let him catch you?”
Amy did her level best not to let her jaw hit the pavement. Had anyone else seen how Jack felt about her? “I …”
Neal cut her off. “You don't have to answer that - it's none of my business. But you two are good together. You're good for each other.”
Still stunned, Amy just replied, “Thanks.”
The line progressed and they finally made it to the counter. Neal gestured for her to place her order. She figured since they were in a fancy coffee shop, she'd get something a little more exciting than her usual black coffee. “Cappuccino, please.”
Before she could pay, Neal waved her off. “My treat.” This time, she wasn't going to argue about Neal's chivalry and stepped aside, letting him place his order. “Espresso, double shot, and a tall Americano.”
Amy figured that one of those was for Peter.
The shop was not a model of efficiency and as they waited for their orders, Neal asked her about the new guy.
“Name's Hanover, out of Chicago.”
“That doesn't tell me much.”
“You can wait to experience him for yourself.” She was in the mood to tease.
“Amy, come on - you know something. Share.”
“He's got a rep - and not a good one.”
“So how did he end up here? White Collar isn't exactly a dumping ground for undesirables.”
“According to Jack, he's got connections in DC.”
“And of course, Jack would know that.”
“Jack knows everything.”
“Almost everything.”
“Yeah, that's true. And you don't have to be smug about that, it's not a good look for you.”
Neal laughed. “So, you're not going to fill me in on the life and times of Agent Hanover?”
“Maybe later? You and Peter, me and Jack, over lunch?” Amy held her breath, wondering if this was too much of an olive branch.
Neal didn't think so. “Sounds good, and Jack's buying, right?”
“Of course!”
Back in the office, Neal handed Peter the Americano and went back to his desk, looking a lot more relaxed than he had been just a little while ago.
It was a pity that it didn't last.
The staff shifted to the conference room for the ten AM tag up, and it was like watching a train wreck happen in slow motion.
Neal and Peter came upstairs together, but as usual, they didn't sit together. Peter was at the far end of the table and Caffrey went to take his usual seat next to the head of the table, across from Amy. Except that this morning, Hanover plopped his ass into that chair. Neal looked a little bemused, but he shrugged and took the seat next to him. Neal held out his hand - the right one, still decorated with a small bandage - and introduced himself.
Hanover looked rather pointedly at it, held up his own hands in a defensive gesture and said in an overly jokey tone, “Heard what happened to you yesterday. No offense intended, but I hope you don't mind if I don't shake your hand.”
Neal flushed a deep red and his hand fell. Anyone else might have slugged the guy, but Neal clearly had better manners.
The room went silent. Jack dropped a stack of files onto the table and stalked towards Hanover, his fists clenched. Peter stood up so quickly that his chair fell over, and the expression on his face read murder. Some of the agents moved to stop Peter, holding him back. Others were holding on to Jack, telling them that it wasn’t worth it. Amy was having no part of that, she wanted to deck the bastard, but Hughes stopped her.
Everyone froze as their normally mild-mannered SAIC stopped her. Hughes picked Hanover up from his chair and practically threw him towards the door. He looked angry enough to toss Hanover down the stairs and out of the office.
Amy didn’t wait to see how Hughes disposed of that piece of trash. She gave Hanover a shove and went over to Neal. She held out her hand and as Neal took it, she reached out and pulled him close enough to whisper in his ear. “Whatever happens, you're ours and we take care of our own.” She kissed his cheek and stepped back.
Jack took her place, giving Neal a bear hug. “We've got your back, Caffrey.”
The rest of the agents made similar offerings of respect until only Peter was left. In front of everyone, he put his hands on Neal’s shoulders then cupped the back of his head, pulling him close. He rested their foreheads together without saying anything. Amy figured, between these two, words weren't necessary.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
The sky was a deep blue that was rarely seen in New York City this late in the springtime. Neal stood in front of the windows and watched the clouds drift by. He wished he could be like those clouds, so free of all constraints and worries.
He shook his head at his own flight of fancy. Freedom like that was an illusion, a chimera. No one was really that free. And then he thought about what even a semblance of that freedom would mean, everything he'd be without if he were as free as those clouds.
He wouldn't have Peter, and that would be intolerable, unbearable. He couldn't imagine his life without Peter beside him, behind him. Peter, his rock.
And he wouldn't have Joe and Cathy, who were as much his parents as anyone else on this earth. He and Peter had gone to see them last night, ostensibly for dinner, but more to share what had happened.
Aunt Cathy had held him, rocking him back and forth like he was still a little boy. “I knew something was wrong, I could feel it in my bones.”
Uncle Joe, who was as demonstrative as Peter's mother, had wrapped him in a bone-crushing hug too. “Whatever you need, Neal. Whenever you need it, just ask.”
It was hard not to break down again, almost as hard as it had been that first day in the office when the whole team stood up for him.
For the first time since it had happened, Neal said “I'll be all right.” He hadn't known if he completely believed it, but at that moment, it didn't taste like a lie on his tongue. He held out his hand to Peter, and instead of letting Peter hold him, he was the one who held Peter, the one who offered comfort and solace. Over the past few days, he had seen the toll this was taking on his lover, his best friend, his partner in every sense of the word, but until that moment, he had been helpless to deal with Peter's own pain.
The rest of the world had fallen away as he murmured, “We'll get through this, we'll be okay. We'll be okay, we'll be okay.”
Now, he wondered.
“You ready?” Peter was there.
“Yeah, I am.”
Hughes had lent them his office after Neal had turned down the offer to go home early and make this call from the privacy of their apartment. He could have stepped outside and used his cell phone, but this seemed like the right place. If the news was bad, he'd have Peter here, he'd have the rest of the team. He didn't have to be alone in this.
The telephone number for the West Side Clinic, as well as the identification number he had been given to get the results of his blood test was etched in his brain. Still, he took the card out and read the numbers as he dialed. Or tried to. His hands started to shake and he hit a four instead of a seven. He tried again and made another mistake. The third time he misdialed, Peter took his hand off the phone and wrapped his fingers around his, squeezing gently. “Let me.”
Neal took a breath and handed him the card.
Peter dialed and handed Neal the phone. Neal put it on speaker - they both needed to hear this. The phone rang once, twice, a third time before a woman answered. “West Side Clinic, confidential testing. How may I direct your call?”
Neal cleared his achingly dry throat. “Test results, please.”
“Do you have your number?”
“Yes.” He read out the six-digit number, and repeated it as requested.
“Hold please.”
The cheery music did nothing to improve his frame of mind, but Neal didn't know if he was waiting for the results or if the results warranted further consultation.
The woman at the other end came back. “Sorry, please continue to hold.”
Neal began to sweat. This couldn't be normal. Peter stood behind him, his hand on his shoulder grounding him, keeping him upright.
Finally, it sounded like his call was transferred.
“Mr. Caffrey?”
This definitely wasn't normal, since the clinic staff wasn't supposed to know his name.
“Yes, this is Neal Caffrey.”
“Hi, I'm Doctor Campbell, and I wanted to discuss your test results with you.”
Neal closed his eyes, this was bad. It was as bad as he feared, or worse. He swallowed against the pain. “Yes, Doctor.”
“Your intake paperwork says that you were stuck by a syringe of unknown origin a few hours before your blood test.”
“Yes. It was in a bag of shredded paper I was sorting through.” Neal wasn't sure why he felt the need to explain the circumstances to this stranger. “We've sent the needle to the lab for testing, but the results haven't come back yet.”
“We?”
“I'm a … “ Neal thought better of his explanation. “I'm in law enforcement, the needle was sent to a forensics lab, we haven't gotten the results yet.”
“Ah, well okay.” The doctor cleared his throat. “The good news is that your blood work came back negative.”
Neal's heart began to beat again and he reached back, squeezing Peter's hand. “There's a 'but' there, doctor. Otherwise you wouldn't have wanted to talk to me.”
“Well, yes - and I'm sorry for breaking the confidentiality seal on your report, but you need to know that you'll need to be tested several times over the next six months.”
Neal felt the icy chill of uncertainty wash over him. “Six months? So you're telling me that I really won't know for certain that I'm not infected for another half a year?” His voice rose in panic.
“It's the protocol, Mr. Caffrey. It takes time for seroconversion to occur, which is when your body begins to produce the antibodies an HIV test is looking for. That can take anywhere from two weeks to six months after infection. And it's your choice, but we strongly recommend continued blood testing at six weeks, twelve weeks and six months, and another follow up at one year. You should see your personal physician, Mr. Caffrey, and you should also consider a prophylactic course of treatment. We’ve seen some extraordinarily promising results with the new antiretroviral therapy. It’s not a cure, of course, but it can slow down the progress of the disease.”
Neal wanted to say, "What's the damn point". It felt like the nightmare was starting all over again.
The doctor continued, “He can contact my office about them. I must also tell you that even if you are in a monogamous relationship, you must practice safe sex. Latex condoms …”
Neal listened as the man droned on. He felt like he was back in the clinic room, waiting for the blood to be drawn, certain that he was infected.
“Do you have any other questions, Mr. Caffrey?”
“No - no.”
“Then, well - you should definitely see your personal physician and have the follow up testing done through his office. Take care and good luck.” The doctor hung up and Neal stared at the phone, the buzzing dial tone didn't even register. Peter reached out and hit the disconnect button, before turning him around.
“Neal - the results were negative. Today, you are healthy. Focus on that.”
He nodded, but not believing it.
“Neal?”
Peter needed him to be strong, so he would at least try. “I'm all right. I don't have HIV.” He tried to summon a level of confidence in that assertion. “Today, I am healthy.” He looked at Peter. “We just tell everyone that the results are negative. They don't need to know about the follow ups.”
“No, they don't.”
Neal walked over to the windows and looked out over the canyons of the city. The sky was still impossibly blue, the high clouds still drifted by, unmoored and uncaring.
And his future was still uncertain.
FIN
Author’s Notes: Treatment of HIV/AIDS, as well as the testing protocols have advanced significantly since 1997, when this story is set. A year later, it’s likely that Neal would have been immediately put on a PEP or Post-Exposure Prophylactic course of medication - the antiretroviral cocktail (or HAART).
Also, given that this story is set in New York City, it is also likely that Neal would have been able to receive an initial diagnosis within an hour, as the first Rapid Result tests were becoming available around that time. Of course, given the nature of his exposure, he would still have needed to undergo a longer testing protocol, including regular retesting over the following six months.
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Reese Hughes, Jack Franklin, OMC, OFC, Peter Burke/Neal Caffrey, Jack Franklin/OFC
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Discussion of HIV/AIDS, expressions of homophobia, sexist appellations
Word Count: ~12,200 (two parts)
Beta Credit:
coffeethyme4me, theatregirl7299 and jrosemarySummary: In the aftermath of the events first told in Heaven for the Hunger, Poison for the Pain, where Neal might have been exposed to HIV/AIDS, Neal’s colleagues rally to him, they have his back and make it known that he’s very much part of the team.
This story also ties up some loose ends in It's Life That Just Sharpens the Blade and What Doesn't Bend, Breaks.
Author's Notes: Written for the lovely
angelita26, who asked me to write more of the story from Heaven for the Hunger, on my Timestamps Meme. Now, technically, a timestamp is a short outtake of a much longer story, but not in this case. The original fic was 2000 words, this one is six times longer. Fills the "Coming Out" Square on my Trope Bingo Card, and the "Wildcard" square on my Love Bingo Card.
Title from Dougie MacLean’s “Hearts Can Never Hide”.
Go To Part I: On LJ | On DW
Reese Hughes never wanted a shot of whiskey more than he did right now. It wasn’t even the whiskey, but the oblivion it promised.
He took Neal to the West Side Clinic, figuring that a dedicated AIDS/HIV center would get the results faster than a regular doctor’s office. Hughes didn’t let Neal go in alone, but he hadn’t expected Neal to ask him to stay even through the confidential portion of the pre-test interview. Even though Neal had explained that he was getting tested because of a needle stick, not because of unsafe sex, the bored lab tech asked some exceedingly personal questions. Reese had tried to leave, but Neal clung to his hand and said, “Please.”
The technician ran through the list of questions, scribbling down the answers Neal gave.
“Are you sexually active?”
“Yes.”
“How many sex partners have you had in the last six months?”
“One.”
The tech looked at him and then at Neal and shook his head. Hughes wanted to laugh. Neal just gripped his hand a little harder.
“How many male sex partners have you had in the last year?”
“One, and it’s the same partner.”
The tech wasn’t paying attention, or was simply committed to following the script. “And was this the same person?”
Neal sighed. “Yes. And for the record, I’ve only had one male sex partner in my entire life.”
The tech gave him a highly skeptical look before going back to his questionnaire. “Okay, now I’m going to ask you some questions about your sexual practices. Are you sure you want your … companion to stay for this part?”
Neal looked at him. There was so much fear in his eyes that Reese didn’t have the heart to leave. “I’m staying. But isn’t there a form that Neal could just fill out instead of going through this verbal exercise in humiliation?”
The man shrugged. “If you prefer. Most guys like to talk about their sexual activities.” He handed Neal a clip board. “I’ll be back in a few. Try to be as detailed as you can. We need the information.”
Neal’s hand shook as he tried to complete the questionnaire, dropping the pencil four times. “Sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about, son. This is …” He was at a loss for words. Horrible. Terrible. Unthinkable.
“Peter and I – we’ve… we’ve been together since high school. There’s never been anyone else for either of us,” Neal unexpectedly volunteered.
Hughes wasn’t sure what to say. “So, you’ve known each other a long time.” That seemed innocuous enough.
“Since elementary school and we’ve been best friends since seventh grade.” Neal wrapped his arms around himself and whispered, “He saved my life.”
There was a story there, one that Reese didn’t know if he wanted hear.
Neal started shivering. “It’s so cold in here.”
It wasn’t; the air in the small room was warm and stale. Neal was coming down off the adrenaline rush, his body reacting like he’d been in shock.
Reese sighed. He could handle any crisis thrown at him, but the mop-up? Not his forte. He wasn’t good with invalids or small crying children, not even his own. He sighed again and wrapped an arm around the younger man’s shoulders. Neal stiffened for an instant, then relaxed, accepting the comfort offered.
Hughes wanted to tell him it would be okay, that the odds were against there being anything communicable on the needle. But that was a lie. He had no way of knowing and anything he could say would be false hope at best.
It seemed like they sat in that white room for an eternity. The posters on the wall warned about practicing unsafe sex, warned about the dangers of sharing needles. There was even one with a detailed list of instructions for the safe disposal of the blood drawing equipment. He had them memorized by time the technician returned.
He held Neal’s jacket and his cufflink and watched as the tech drew two vials of blood. One for the HIV test, the other for hepatitis. He listened as the man gave Neal instructions on when to call and how to ask for the results. Neal’s hands were still shaking as he took the little white card with his number. The tech left and Reese wanted to get Neal out of there, get him home and into a familiar, less threatening environment.
Except that Neal couldn’t seem to put himself back together. His hands were shaking worse now than when he was filling out the questionnaire, and while Hughes would have just shoved the cufflink into his pocket and put his jacket on, Caffrey seemed intent on restoring himself to absolute sartorial perfection.
“Hold on, let me help you.” He took Neal’s hand, ironically the one that was stuck. It was still sporting that innocuous bandage – a few square inches of pinkish-beige vinyl – and in some quixotic gesture, Reese rubbed his thumb over it, over Neal’s sweaty palm, before turning his wrist and fitting the cufflink into place.
He was struck by a memory, one of his father, as he had helped him put on his first set of cufflinks, then stood back and looked at him with pride.
Hughes helped Neal back into his suit jacket and he led him through the clinic and back to his car. Maybe it was the clarity of the late-afternoon sunlight, the cool breeze blowing through the canyons of Midtown, but Neal seemed to regain some of himself and was about to start walking uptown, but Reese grabbed his arm.
“Let me take you home, son.”
“I can walk.”
“Yes, of course you can, but you shouldn’t.” He actually manhandled Neal, pushing him towards the government-issue black sedan. “Don’t be stubborn.”
“It’s almost rush hour – it’ll be faster if I walk.”
“Agent Caffrey, get in the car. That’s an order.”
Neal gave him a small, tight smile and obeyed.
“Where to?”
“82nd and Riverside.”
Contrary to Neal’s expectations and the hour, the trip uptown took less than fifteen minutes. Hughes knew where Neal lived, but Neal must have forgotten as he gave him directions and then told him to stop at a granite-clad fortress, guarded by a red-coated doorman. And even though he'd been here before, it was still startling to connect the FBI agent he knew with this palatial residence. He knew that Neal had money, it was just startling to see it so manifest.
“Do you want me to come up with you?”
“No, but thank you. I really appreciate this. I don’t know how I would have managed if you weren’t there.”
Hughes shook his head. “Nothing to thank me for. Are you sure you want to be alone?”
“Peter’s coming back from Quantico tonight. I won’t be alone for long.” Neal unbuckled the seat belt and before he could open the car door, the doorman rushed over to do it for him. “Thank you, sir.”
“Caffrey – if you need to, stay home tomorrow. Burke can, too. There’s nothing that the team can’t cover.”
Neal ducked his head, his smile a faint shadow of his usual grin. “Thanks.”
The car door shut with a politely emphatic thunk. Before Reese pulled away from the curb, into the stream of traffic, he watched Caffrey disappear into his building and thought that of all the agents he’d trained over the decades, Neal Caffrey was the only one he thought of as a son.
He should be so lucky.
It was full dark by the time Peter coaxed Neal out of the spare bedroom. “You need to eat.”
“I can’t - I’ll throw up. Hell, I might throw up even if I don’t eat.”
“Okay, but you’re not staying in here all night.” He was talking to Neal like he was a small, stubborn child, his tone firm, brooking no disagreement. But still full of love. “Come on.” Peter held out a hand and after a moment, and then another, Neal took it and Peter pulled him to his feet.
Neal allowed himself to be manhandled and Peter pushed him into their bedroom. He stripped Neal out of his suit, taking care of it the way Neal would do himself. He sat Neal down on the bed and knelt at his feet, taking off his shoes and socks, rubbing away the slight indentations that the expensive leather left on his feet.
From this angle, looking up at Neal - his skin illuminated by the single bedside lamp - he seemed ethereal, not quite connected to this world anymore. Peter’s heart skittered and raced and he tried not to think of what Neal had just asked of him. ”You promised me, Peter. You won’t let me suffer. Not like that. If you can’t do it, just make sure I’m strong enough to hold my gun.”
Overcome, Peter rested his head in Neal’s lap and tried not to weep and failed. He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Sorry.”
Neal’s fingers curled in his hair, but he didn’t say anything. Peter could feel the slight tremors that still ran through his partner’s frame.
His own emotions were still in turmoil, but he needed to be strong. He needed to give Neal the strength to face an uncertain future, the strength to dream even when all he wanted was oblivion. He needed to renege on a promise he’d just made because there was no way he’d let Neal die. There was no way he’d let this man give up a single moment before he absolutely had to. Because without Neal, he was nothing.
The five months they spent apart proved it - he had damned himself on that. And he’d be damned if he had to live a single moment without this man in his world.
Today is the first day of the rest of your life. Neal remembered the first time he read that. It had been on a poster or a painting in the waiting room in his pediatrician’s office and he’d been seven or eight years old.
”What does that mean, Mommy?”
His mother smiled at him and stroked the curl that always drooped down on his forehead.
“It means that every day, you wake up and it’s a new chance to put aside what happened yesterday and start again.”
If only that were possible.
Peter didn’t insist that he eat, but he pulled and pushed and prodded him into the shower and washed him from head to toe, as if he could wash away the stain of what had happened, of what was going to happen.
Peter had washed him, rinsed him, dried him, and carried him back to bed. Neal had struggled, protesting that Peter would damage his newly healed shoulder.
“It’s fine. I just spent the last three days at Quantico completing the physical fitness tests from the Academy training program. If I could haul myself over a twenty-foot cargo net and climb a brick wall hand over hand, I can do this.” Peter had lifted him up and carried him like a damned bride back into the bedroom.
Under any other circumstance, Neal would have thrilled to the unaccustomed display of macho behavior. Right now, he just wanted to bury himself under the covers, shut out the world, and forget the day ever happened.
Neal didn’t move, but he had watched as Peter puttered around their bedroom, unpacking his travel bag, hanging up Neal’s suit, putting everything back into its proper place. These were things that he’d ordinarily take care of; things that Peter was doing now because Peter knew that he’d be restless if they weren’t done.
Only when Peter climbed into bed next to him, when he draped a heavy arm over Neal’s waist and pulled him back, tight against his body – the way he had every night they’d shared a bed – did some of the terrible tension leave him.
Peter pressed his lips against the back of his neck, against the apple of his shoulder, before whispering in his ear, “Whatever the test results are, they will change nothing. I love you, Neal. Through thick and thin. In sickness and in health. “
He could hear the tears in Peter’s voice, the anguish, and something in Neal twisted – a beautiful, perfect memory. “For the ends of being and ideal grace.”
“Yes, Neal. Yes.”
The rest of the poem unscrolled in his mind, the words that they didn’t speak to each other that night, the last lines, I love thee with the breath, / Smiles, tears, of all my life! – / and, if God choose, / I shall but love thee better after death. He moaned, and a sob rose from the pit of his soul, animal-like in its harshness. Neal couldn’t cry. He didn’t seem to have any tears left.
Peter reached out and rolled him over, tucking him into the shelter of his arms and they both cried, for the fear, the loss, for the damned unfairness of everything.
Peter wasn’t sure that going into the office today was the best thing for Neal. But he wasn’t sure that staying home and worrying was good for him either. He would have insisted that they at least go in late, but Neal had slept and so had he. They were both wrung out and exhausted and they woke up much as they’d fallen asleep, wrapped in each other’s arms.
Waking shortly after dawn, Neal just said, “I have to do something, Peter. I’ll go crazy if I don’t.”
So, in the end, Peter gave in and they went into work as if today was any normal day. Actually, today should have been momentous for him, since the higher-ups had cleared him to return to active duty. For the first time since the shooting, Peter clipped his badge to his belt, put on his holster and gun, and was prepared to head out and face any eventuality.
But it didn’t feel momentous or important, in light of everything else. He looked at Neal as they swayed back and forth on the train and worried. Neal’s words from last night were ringing in his head, and no matter how hard he tried to believe otherwise, Peter knew they weren’t engendered by momentary panic. They’d seen too many friends lose the battle and die in horrific agony. He couldn’t blame Neal for not wanting that future, but to ask him … To expect him to …
He couldn’t even let his brain complete the thought.
The subway came to a stop and they fought their way through the rush of fellow passengers trying to get out.
It was early and the office was mostly empty still. Peter went through his usual morning routine, taking off his holster and gun and locking them in his desk, turning on his computer, making coffee. Neal just stood there; the lost and hopeless look in his eyes was heartbreaking.
“Neal?” He rubbed his partner’s arm, trying to break him out of the loop of despair he was caught in.
That earned him a small, tremulous smile. “I’m okay. I’ll be okay.”
Peter hoped that that was true. He fetched them both cups of the office’s undrinkable brew and settled down to work. The pile of folders on his desk had grown significantly in his three-day absence, and he wondered when his desk became a dumping ground. Jack had mentioned that a new agent was joining the division this week, and Peter figured he could pass some of the less noteworthy assignments onto the guy.
By a quarter to nine, the rest of the staff started wandering in. A couple of analysts, followed by Jack and Amy, who seemed to be standing awfully close to each other. They came over to his desk, smiling - but those smiles wavered a bit as they looked over to Neal.
“How are you doing? The brass sign off?”
“Yup, back on active duty.”
“It's about time you stopped taking up time and space and did some real work.” That was from Amy, but her smile took the sting out of her words.
Other agents stopped by to welcome him back, and Peter was a bit bemused. He'd been on desk and surveillance duty for three months, but everyone was treating him like he was just back from a long convalescence.
Hughes came in, nodded at him and looked at Neal before heading to his office. He had just enough time to finish his now-cold coffee before his desk phone rang. It was Hughes, and would he please come upstairs with his paperwork.
There was actually quite a bit of it. He had signed certifications from each of the training divisions at Quantico plus medical and psych evaluations, plus his own doctors' and surgeons' reports. Technically, until Hughes signed off on everything, he wasn't back on active duty. Before yesterday, there was little risk that his boss would keep him chained to a desk, but since Hughes knew about him and Neal, Peter wondered if he'd be benched prophylactically.
He knocked and Hughes waved him in with a command. “Sit.”
Before he obeyed, Peter handed him the file with his paperwork. Hughes flipped through it, double checking some forms, going back and forth between pages that Peter couldn't see from this angle. It didn't matter, not really. Either he'd be riding a desk for a while longer, or he wouldn't. And to be honest, Peter wasn't sure if being office-bound for the next few days wasn't a bad idea - at least until Neal got his results.
“Are you up to active duty? And I don't mean physically.” Hughes read his mind.
“I don't know, sir.”
“How's Neal doing?”
What could Peter say? “He's coping.”
“I'm sure he is, but stop with the bullshit. I was with him at the clinic.”
Peter sighed. “Honestly, he's wrecked. But he's functioning.” There was no way Peter would tell anyone here what Neal had asked him to do.
“And you?”
“Whatever comes, I'll deal with it. Neal and I…” It was a strange thing to be able to say that to his boss. “We're together in this, it changes nothing.” He echoed his words to Neal from last night.
“If you need time - if Neal needs time - just ask.”
Peter nodded, a little surprised at Hughes' generosity. But Hughes wasn't quite done.
“This is a terrible thing, and there's a lot of uncertainty in both of your lives. That can translate badly in the field. I'm not going to bench either of you, but I will pull you out if I see problems. Got that?”
Peter nodded again. “Yes sir, I do.”
Hughes scrawled his name across the form on the top of his folder. “Okay. You're on active duty, Agent Burke, and it's good to have you back.” He held out his hand. Peter took it and even with everything else, this did feel momentous.
Amy was surprised to see Neal at his desk, perfectly composed and acting like it was any other day. Then she looked a little closer - there were lines of strain at the corners of his mouth and eyes, his hand as it held a cup of coffee shook ever so slightly.
She wanted to go to him and give him a hug. But she had the feeling that he wouldn’t appreciate any sort of demonstrable reminder of what happened. If he was here, at work, then he wanted to be treated like he would be on any other day. Since she wasn’t a hugger even under the best of circumstances, Amy held off.
He did look up as she sat down next to him and she gave him a smile, just the barest twitch of her lips. He smiled back - nothing like the usual Caffrey “life’s wonderful and I’m wonderful” grin that he normally put on, but something a hell of a lot more honest and a hell of a lot more heartbreaking.
“Can’t stand the thought of the office swill this morning. I’m going out for coffee, want one?” Now, that offer was completely out of the ordinary. She never got coffee for anyone else, ever.
“You’re serious?” This got a slightly broader smile.
“As a heart attack. I suppose you’d like one of your fancy espressos, though.”
“I don’t think the deli on the corner makes espresso, Amy.”
“I was going to head over to the new Starbucks over on Reade Street. See what all the fuss is about.”
Neal tilted his head and looked at her. “Wouldn’t mind checking it out myself. Mind if I tag along?”
“Not at all.” The question surprised her, but in truth, she actually welcomed the opportunity. Although her behavior towards Neal had changed considerably since he had come back from his undercover assignment, she hadn’t really gotten the chance to make amends for her past behavior. This might not be the right moment, but it was at least a chance to talk to the man.
As they walked by Hanover’s desk, he grabbed her sleeve. “Going out for coffee? Get me a grande caramel latte.”
She gave him her best stare of doom and he let go of her sleeve. “The coffee pot is over there, get your own.”
Neal looked at her and she just shook her head and mouthed “New guy.”
They didn’t say anything on the trip down to the street, and Amy bit the inside of her lip to stop herself from asking how Neal was doing. Then she realized that perhaps she should ask. Pretending yesterday didn’t happen wasn’t a good idea.
“You okay?”
He shrugged. “I guess so.”
“When will you know?”
Neal sighed. “Five days. I can call for the results next Wednesday.”
“That long?”
“Apparently.”
Amy dodged a dog walker and a half-dozen tiny poodles and stopped at the corner, waiting for the light to change. Neal held out a hand, as if to help her down from the curb. She didn’t know whether to laugh or threaten to cut it off.
Neal, realizing that his chivalric gesture was both inappropriate and unnecessary, gave a huff of laughter and proceeded to walk across the street, leaving her to fight through the crowd. She jogged a little to catch up and lightly smacked him on the back. “Asshole.”
“What did you want me to do, wait until the light turned red again?”
They reached the coffee shop, and of course there was a line out the door. They stood there, the man in a suit in front of them was engrossed in his newspaper and all of a sudden, everything about the moment felt right.
“I'm sorry.”
Neal gave her a puzzled look. “For what? Yesterday wasn't your fault.”
“No - not yesterday. For everything else. For the way I treated you when you came on board, the way I behaved that night at the bar, for making your life miserable for the four years that followed.” She stopped. There it was - her apology. And she waited, barely breathing, expecting Neal to make some snide comment and laugh in her face.
He didn't of course, because that really wasn't like Neal Caffrey. He just looked at her, trying to figure everything out. The seconds passed into minutes and she watched as comprehension hit. His expression softened and something like compassion darkened his eyes. She dreaded his next words more than his laugher and derision. She expected Neal to acknowledge of that she was doing her step and this apology was simply an exercise and not something of any sincerity.
Of course Caffrey, being Caffrey, didn't go there. He simply said, “Apology accepted.”
And that was that.
The line moved slowly and just before they reached the front door, Neal stuck his hands in his pockets, rocked back on his heels and dropped his own bombshell. “So, you and Jack?”
Amy stood there, stunned. How the hell had he figured that out?
“Don't worry - I only saw it because I know what to look for.”
“Yeah, it's not like you haven't had any practice in hiding relationships.”
Neal ducked his head and chuckled. “Exactly. So - like I said, you and Jack? That going on for a while?”
“Not as long as you and Peter, apparently.”
Neal ignored the jab. “He's been chasing you long enough. What made you decide to let him catch you?”
Amy did her level best not to let her jaw hit the pavement. Had anyone else seen how Jack felt about her? “I …”
Neal cut her off. “You don't have to answer that - it's none of my business. But you two are good together. You're good for each other.”
Still stunned, Amy just replied, “Thanks.”
The line progressed and they finally made it to the counter. Neal gestured for her to place her order. She figured since they were in a fancy coffee shop, she'd get something a little more exciting than her usual black coffee. “Cappuccino, please.”
Before she could pay, Neal waved her off. “My treat.” This time, she wasn't going to argue about Neal's chivalry and stepped aside, letting him place his order. “Espresso, double shot, and a tall Americano.”
Amy figured that one of those was for Peter.
The shop was not a model of efficiency and as they waited for their orders, Neal asked her about the new guy.
“Name's Hanover, out of Chicago.”
“That doesn't tell me much.”
“You can wait to experience him for yourself.” She was in the mood to tease.
“Amy, come on - you know something. Share.”
“He's got a rep - and not a good one.”
“So how did he end up here? White Collar isn't exactly a dumping ground for undesirables.”
“According to Jack, he's got connections in DC.”
“And of course, Jack would know that.”
“Jack knows everything.”
“Almost everything.”
“Yeah, that's true. And you don't have to be smug about that, it's not a good look for you.”
Neal laughed. “So, you're not going to fill me in on the life and times of Agent Hanover?”
“Maybe later? You and Peter, me and Jack, over lunch?” Amy held her breath, wondering if this was too much of an olive branch.
Neal didn't think so. “Sounds good, and Jack's buying, right?”
“Of course!”
Back in the office, Neal handed Peter the Americano and went back to his desk, looking a lot more relaxed than he had been just a little while ago.
It was a pity that it didn't last.
The staff shifted to the conference room for the ten AM tag up, and it was like watching a train wreck happen in slow motion.
Neal and Peter came upstairs together, but as usual, they didn't sit together. Peter was at the far end of the table and Caffrey went to take his usual seat next to the head of the table, across from Amy. Except that this morning, Hanover plopped his ass into that chair. Neal looked a little bemused, but he shrugged and took the seat next to him. Neal held out his hand - the right one, still decorated with a small bandage - and introduced himself.
Hanover looked rather pointedly at it, held up his own hands in a defensive gesture and said in an overly jokey tone, “Heard what happened to you yesterday. No offense intended, but I hope you don't mind if I don't shake your hand.”
Neal flushed a deep red and his hand fell. Anyone else might have slugged the guy, but Neal clearly had better manners.
The room went silent. Jack dropped a stack of files onto the table and stalked towards Hanover, his fists clenched. Peter stood up so quickly that his chair fell over, and the expression on his face read murder. Some of the agents moved to stop Peter, holding him back. Others were holding on to Jack, telling them that it wasn’t worth it. Amy was having no part of that, she wanted to deck the bastard, but Hughes stopped her.
Everyone froze as their normally mild-mannered SAIC stopped her. Hughes picked Hanover up from his chair and practically threw him towards the door. He looked angry enough to toss Hanover down the stairs and out of the office.
Amy didn’t wait to see how Hughes disposed of that piece of trash. She gave Hanover a shove and went over to Neal. She held out her hand and as Neal took it, she reached out and pulled him close enough to whisper in his ear. “Whatever happens, you're ours and we take care of our own.” She kissed his cheek and stepped back.
Jack took her place, giving Neal a bear hug. “We've got your back, Caffrey.”
The rest of the agents made similar offerings of respect until only Peter was left. In front of everyone, he put his hands on Neal’s shoulders then cupped the back of his head, pulling him close. He rested their foreheads together without saying anything. Amy figured, between these two, words weren't necessary.
The sky was a deep blue that was rarely seen in New York City this late in the springtime. Neal stood in front of the windows and watched the clouds drift by. He wished he could be like those clouds, so free of all constraints and worries.
He shook his head at his own flight of fancy. Freedom like that was an illusion, a chimera. No one was really that free. And then he thought about what even a semblance of that freedom would mean, everything he'd be without if he were as free as those clouds.
He wouldn't have Peter, and that would be intolerable, unbearable. He couldn't imagine his life without Peter beside him, behind him. Peter, his rock.
And he wouldn't have Joe and Cathy, who were as much his parents as anyone else on this earth. He and Peter had gone to see them last night, ostensibly for dinner, but more to share what had happened.
Aunt Cathy had held him, rocking him back and forth like he was still a little boy. “I knew something was wrong, I could feel it in my bones.”
Uncle Joe, who was as demonstrative as Peter's mother, had wrapped him in a bone-crushing hug too. “Whatever you need, Neal. Whenever you need it, just ask.”
It was hard not to break down again, almost as hard as it had been that first day in the office when the whole team stood up for him.
For the first time since it had happened, Neal said “I'll be all right.” He hadn't known if he completely believed it, but at that moment, it didn't taste like a lie on his tongue. He held out his hand to Peter, and instead of letting Peter hold him, he was the one who held Peter, the one who offered comfort and solace. Over the past few days, he had seen the toll this was taking on his lover, his best friend, his partner in every sense of the word, but until that moment, he had been helpless to deal with Peter's own pain.
The rest of the world had fallen away as he murmured, “We'll get through this, we'll be okay. We'll be okay, we'll be okay.”
Now, he wondered.
“You ready?” Peter was there.
“Yeah, I am.”
Hughes had lent them his office after Neal had turned down the offer to go home early and make this call from the privacy of their apartment. He could have stepped outside and used his cell phone, but this seemed like the right place. If the news was bad, he'd have Peter here, he'd have the rest of the team. He didn't have to be alone in this.
The telephone number for the West Side Clinic, as well as the identification number he had been given to get the results of his blood test was etched in his brain. Still, he took the card out and read the numbers as he dialed. Or tried to. His hands started to shake and he hit a four instead of a seven. He tried again and made another mistake. The third time he misdialed, Peter took his hand off the phone and wrapped his fingers around his, squeezing gently. “Let me.”
Neal took a breath and handed him the card.
Peter dialed and handed Neal the phone. Neal put it on speaker - they both needed to hear this. The phone rang once, twice, a third time before a woman answered. “West Side Clinic, confidential testing. How may I direct your call?”
Neal cleared his achingly dry throat. “Test results, please.”
“Do you have your number?”
“Yes.” He read out the six-digit number, and repeated it as requested.
“Hold please.”
The cheery music did nothing to improve his frame of mind, but Neal didn't know if he was waiting for the results or if the results warranted further consultation.
The woman at the other end came back. “Sorry, please continue to hold.”
Neal began to sweat. This couldn't be normal. Peter stood behind him, his hand on his shoulder grounding him, keeping him upright.
Finally, it sounded like his call was transferred.
“Mr. Caffrey?”
This definitely wasn't normal, since the clinic staff wasn't supposed to know his name.
“Yes, this is Neal Caffrey.”
“Hi, I'm Doctor Campbell, and I wanted to discuss your test results with you.”
Neal closed his eyes, this was bad. It was as bad as he feared, or worse. He swallowed against the pain. “Yes, Doctor.”
“Your intake paperwork says that you were stuck by a syringe of unknown origin a few hours before your blood test.”
“Yes. It was in a bag of shredded paper I was sorting through.” Neal wasn't sure why he felt the need to explain the circumstances to this stranger. “We've sent the needle to the lab for testing, but the results haven't come back yet.”
“We?”
“I'm a … “ Neal thought better of his explanation. “I'm in law enforcement, the needle was sent to a forensics lab, we haven't gotten the results yet.”
“Ah, well okay.” The doctor cleared his throat. “The good news is that your blood work came back negative.”
Neal's heart began to beat again and he reached back, squeezing Peter's hand. “There's a 'but' there, doctor. Otherwise you wouldn't have wanted to talk to me.”
“Well, yes - and I'm sorry for breaking the confidentiality seal on your report, but you need to know that you'll need to be tested several times over the next six months.”
Neal felt the icy chill of uncertainty wash over him. “Six months? So you're telling me that I really won't know for certain that I'm not infected for another half a year?” His voice rose in panic.
“It's the protocol, Mr. Caffrey. It takes time for seroconversion to occur, which is when your body begins to produce the antibodies an HIV test is looking for. That can take anywhere from two weeks to six months after infection. And it's your choice, but we strongly recommend continued blood testing at six weeks, twelve weeks and six months, and another follow up at one year. You should see your personal physician, Mr. Caffrey, and you should also consider a prophylactic course of treatment. We’ve seen some extraordinarily promising results with the new antiretroviral therapy. It’s not a cure, of course, but it can slow down the progress of the disease.”
Neal wanted to say, "What's the damn point". It felt like the nightmare was starting all over again.
The doctor continued, “He can contact my office about them. I must also tell you that even if you are in a monogamous relationship, you must practice safe sex. Latex condoms …”
Neal listened as the man droned on. He felt like he was back in the clinic room, waiting for the blood to be drawn, certain that he was infected.
“Do you have any other questions, Mr. Caffrey?”
“No - no.”
“Then, well - you should definitely see your personal physician and have the follow up testing done through his office. Take care and good luck.” The doctor hung up and Neal stared at the phone, the buzzing dial tone didn't even register. Peter reached out and hit the disconnect button, before turning him around.
“Neal - the results were negative. Today, you are healthy. Focus on that.”
He nodded, but not believing it.
“Neal?”
Peter needed him to be strong, so he would at least try. “I'm all right. I don't have HIV.” He tried to summon a level of confidence in that assertion. “Today, I am healthy.” He looked at Peter. “We just tell everyone that the results are negative. They don't need to know about the follow ups.”
“No, they don't.”
Neal walked over to the windows and looked out over the canyons of the city. The sky was still impossibly blue, the high clouds still drifted by, unmoored and uncaring.
And his future was still uncertain.
Author’s Notes: Treatment of HIV/AIDS, as well as the testing protocols have advanced significantly since 1997, when this story is set. A year later, it’s likely that Neal would have been immediately put on a PEP or Post-Exposure Prophylactic course of medication - the antiretroviral cocktail (or HAART).
Also, given that this story is set in New York City, it is also likely that Neal would have been able to receive an initial diagnosis within an hour, as the first Rapid Result tests were becoming available around that time. Of course, given the nature of his exposure, he would still have needed to undergo a longer testing protocol, including regular retesting over the following six months.
Tags:
- character: jack franklin,
- character: neal caffrey,
- character: ofc,
- character: omc,
- character: peter burke,
- character: reese hughes,
- genre: angst,
- genre: coming out,
- genre: friendship,
- genre: hurt/comfort,
- pairing: peter/neal,
- type: fan fiction,
- type: longfic,
- wc verse: wonderful years,
- white collar,
- written for: h/c bingo,
- written for: love bingo,
- written for: timestamp meme,
- written for: trope bingo,
- year: 2013
