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elrhiarhodanTitle: Nothing Will Remain – Part Two of Two
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, Clinton Jones, Mozzie, (Peter/Neal)
Word Count: ~16,700
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Beta Credit:miri_thompson, coffeethyme4me
Summary: A near-canon A/U, where Neal Caffrey isn’t a forger and thief, but young Wall Street wizard who legitimately worked for Vincent Adler. He’s just out of prison, having served four years for investment fraud. He finds a job as a bookkeeper for Elizabeth Burke, Peter Burke’s ex-wife. Elizabeth and Peter have remained on excellent terms, and El wants to set Neal up on a blind date with him. But that’s not going to work as Neal’s past and Peter’s caseload collide.
Author’s Note: Written for my sweet friendsinfulslasher for Day Four of my 2013 Fic-Can-Ukah meme, for the prompt “I Was Meant to Be Someone Else”. She said “writer’s choice, but I love me some Neal angst.”
“The Suits are digging through your life, you know.”
Neal took a sip of his espresso and winced. It was cold and bitter and probably was awful when it was freshly made. “I know. Nothing to stop them.”
“I could lay down some false trails; feed them some disinformation, if you want.”
“Moz, no – “
“It couldn’t hurt, and it would be kind of fun to watch them chase their tails.”
“Moz, please don’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’ll come back and bite me in the ass, that’s why.”
“You’re not going to give the Suits what they want?”
“No, not if I don’t have to.”
“They can compel you, but if you want to hold out, you know I’ll be right there with you.”
Neal had to smile. “Actually, Moz, you won’t. I’ll be the one in jail on a material witness order; you’ll be home, in your bed, curled up with your favorite conspiracy theories.”
“Yeah, well, but I’ll be with you in spirit.”
“Don’t worry. I doubt it will come to that. I was just the first on their list. I’m sure the Feds will get what they need from Wylie or Hunter. Those two wouldn’t hesitate to roll over, given the right incentive.”
Moz got a strange look on his face.
“What?”
“Um, Neal – Wylie and Hunter are dead.”
“Well, Wylie doesn’t surprise me. He never took care of himself. But Hunter? He was fanatic about chasing the fountain of youth.”
“Neal – they’re all dead.”
“What do you mean they’re all dead?”
“I mean that every single one of Adler’s inner circle, all of his golden boys – except you – are dead.”
“No, that can’t be right,” Neal protested.
“Even Kate Moreau, I very sorry to say.”
“Kate? She was perfectly healthy – you have to be mistaken.”
“There was a small airplane accident. She was killed when the jet crashed on takeoff.” Moz slid a file across the table. “All the data’s in there.”
Neal looked at it, stunned and saddened. He’d worked with these people for years, and while he had been furiously, bitterly angry that not one of them was willing to stand by him, to explain how he wasn’t involved in Adler’s trading organization, he never wanted any of them dead.
And Kate. Pretty, talented, helpless Kate Moreau, who was barely equipped to survive in New York, let alone to work for Vincent Adler. He’d delicately flirted with her, taking delight in making her blush. Taking even greater delight in making … No, better not think about that.
“You might want to think about setting up a failsafe, Neal.”
“Huh?” He looked up at Moz, not getting the man’s point. “Failsafe?”
“You’re the only one alive. Doesn’t that seem a little … sinister?”
Neal looked at the file and the list again. “You’re not saying that Vincent had these guys killed? That doesn’t even seem plausible.”
Moz just shrugged.
“I mean, how do you make someone get a fatal cardiac infection? Or have a stroke on an operating table? One in a hospital in London, the other in Chicago? Moz – I know you’re paranoid and you like to find conspiracy theories in the shape of the clouds, but that’s a little ridiculous.”
Moz crossed his arms over his chest and refused to back down. “Is it, Neal?”
“Look , if Adler was going to do something, why wait all this time? I mean, why not take care of me when I was in prison.”
“Don’t know, but you’re the only person left who can make a reliable identification…”
“Unless he’s had plastic surgery.”
“True – but let’s say he hasn’t or he won’t. And the Suits seem to think that they’ve got a bead on him. From where I sit, that puts a great big target on your back.”
Neal wasn’t prepared to admit that Moz was right, but it didn’t hurt to play along. “You think I should set up a failsafe – how?”
“You’ve got some talent, in the artistic department…”
“Not really, Moz. I can copy anything, but I’ve got no creativity.”
“You don’t need to be creative. You have a good eye and a better memory. I’ve seen your sketchbook.”
Neal didn’t know whether or not he should be outraged at the invasion of privacy. “I’m not following your logic, it’s even more twisted than usual.”
Moz signed and explained, “You can create a very detailed sketch of Adler, I’ll let it be known, through certain ‘channels’ that if anything happens to you, that sketch goes to every law enforcement agency in the world.”
Neal raised an eyebrow at the hyperbole, “In the world?”
“I can send it to Interpol and let them do the heavy lifting.”
Neal nodded, conceding the point. “I think you’re seeing things that aren’t there, Moz. Vincent has no reason to hurt me, and he had nothing to do with this.” He pushed to file back across the table.
“I think you’re making a big mistake, mon frère. Think about it.”
“I will.” Neal humored Moz, figuring that if he didn’t, he wouldn’t stop nagging at him.
But Mozzie wasn’t fooled. “I mean it, Neal. Watch your back and don’t take any candy from strangers.”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Peter had been an FBI agent for almost two decades. After so many years, the shine had long since worn off his badge. He wasn’t blind to the Bureau’s flaws, but he kept his own personal code of honor. Other agents might take shortcuts, find it easier to comply with questionable directives than challenge them, other agents might be more concerned about their conviction rating. But not him and not anyone in White Collar.
Peter was as proud of his division’s record on civil rights as he was on their closure percentages, and when the former jeopardized the latter, he was more than prepared to sacrifice the percentage points.
Which was why the icy knot of worry in his gut had turned to an acid ball of disgust when Clinton came up to his office to give him the highlights.
“Caffrey was railroaded.”
“What?”
“Justice had nothing on him.”
Peter believed Clinton, but needed to play devil’s advocate. “So they got lucky that Caffrey decided to take the plea.”
“No, that’s not what I mean. The U.S. Attorney filed all sorts of charges against Neal Caffrey relating to Adler’s stock trading operation, everything from using inside information to fraudulently misrepresenting valuations, to looting client accounts.”
“Well, they were hoping something would stick. It’s not uncommon to put up a sweeping indictment.”
“It is when there’s not a single shred of evidence linking the defendant to the crimes charged. At best, it was a fishing expedition. At worst, it was guilt by association.”
“Again, Caffrey pleaded guilty.” Peter knew where this was going.
“After the US Attorney told him he was facing life – which was a lie, and that they were going to seize all of his assets, which they couldn’t without any tangible connection to Adler’s criminal activities.”
“That’s all part of the Justice Department’s playbook.” If he was going to attack the conviction, he needed to make sure it was as vulnerable as he hoped.
“Peter – Neal Caffrey worked exclusively as Adler’s VP of Acquisitions. He bought companies for Adler; he didn’t have a single thing to do with any of the man’s investment accounts, trading accounts or client funds. He didn’t even have his own in house account – apparently Adler didn’t give him authority to make direct investments, he needed to go through the employee portfolio. Of all the people in the Adler organization, Neal Caffrey was the one person who should have walked away with a big ‘innocent’ stamp on his file.”
“Okay, that may be true – but how do you get past the fact that he took a guilty plea?”
Clinton shook his head. “Bad advice from his attorney? If the Government was threatening to seize his bank accounts, his attorney was probably looking to cut his losses and told him to take the plea. Wouldn’t be the first time a shark in a good suit sold out his client.”
“Did Caffrey have any dependents?”
Clinton flipped through the file he was holding. “Caffrey’s never been married, no kids, no significant others of record.”
“Parents?”
“Father’s listed as deceased, mother …” Clinton checked another file. “Mother’s in a nursing home in St. Louis. Been there for over a decade.”
“There’s your reason for the guilty plea.” Peter didn’t bother disguising his anger.
It was Jones’ turn to be confused. “I don’t follow.”
“Who do you think was paying for the nursing home?”
“Ah.” The light dawned.
“I bet if you check what Caffrey had and what he turned over to the Government, you’ll find a discrepancy. A million, maybe two. Probably there’s an irrevocable trust set up and when his mother dies, the balance of the trust reverts to the government.”
“Nice.” Clinton sounded disgusted.
Peter was sickened, but he needed to make sure. “Have you spoken with the attorney who was in charge of the prosecution?”
“No, not yet. Wanted to clear it with you first.”
“Good. I think I want to do the talking, find out just how they managed to pin the entire nine-billion dollar Ponzi scheme on the back of an innocent man.”
Clinton smiled, and it wasn’t a nice expression. “Can I come with you?”
“You want to see justice served?”
“With an apple in its mouth.”
Peter laughed, but that was the last bit of humor he’d appreciate for a while.
Alan Davis was your typical high-powered careerist in the US Attorney’s Office. He’d scored big with a handful of high-profile cases, including the plea deal for Neal Caffrey, and had quickly risen through the ranks in the most prestigious division of the Justice Department. He was now the second in command for the entire New York office.
Peter had worked with him on a number of prosecutions, but never had any serious doubts about the man’s ethics. Yes, he was hungry for the limelight, but so was his boss. And well-publicized convictions helped deter other would-be wrong-doers, or so the theory went. Peter now had to wonder how many of those convictions were as flawed as Caffrey’s was.
Peter got right to the point. “Neal Caffrey – you handled the prosecution.”
“I oversaw it, but there were others on the case.” Davis leaned back in his chair, a smug, self-satisfied expression on his face. “Adler might have slipped through our fingers, but we got his right-hand man.”
“Hmmm, his right-hand man. That would have been Rajeev Bhara, Adler’s VP for trading operations. The man who directed all of the stock trading operations for Adler’s funds,” Clinton supplied.
Peter added, with equal helpfulness, “Or Robert Caldwell, who was Adler’s Chief Financial Officer, and the one who signed off on all of the investment account statements.”
Davis shrugged. “Both men died before we could indict. Caffrey was – “
“What, convenient?” He wanted to add, Easy to manipulate? Too young and unsophisticated to see through your tricks? but decided not to antagonize the man. Not yet.
“What are you getting at, Burke?”
Peter ignored the question. “It wasn’t that you didn’t have any concrete evidence linking Caffrey to the charges, you should have known that Caffrey had no connection to Adler’s trading operations.”
“And yet, he copped a plea.” Davis was smug. “Anyways, that’s old water under an older bridge. It’s been half a decade since that prosecution. What’s your interest now?”
Mindful of the source of the information for the alleged sighting of Vincent Adler and even more so of the list of the dead, Peter decided to lie. “Caffrey’s name came up in connection with another Ponzi scheme, but when we did a background check, we found some surprising inconsistencies.”
Davis didn’t seem like he was buying that, so Peter added. “Frankly, I was a little annoyed – we spent two weeks chasing our tails with Caffrey and it turns out that it was a useless lead. I thought maybe you’d have some insight.”
The diversion worked. “Don’t know if I could help – Caffrey was smart, slick, I always got the feeling he could sell ice to Eskimos. You’ve talked to him, right?”
Peter didn’t confirm or deny. “Not all that smart, if he pled guilty to something he didn’t do.”
“Well, maybe he was guilty of something – he worked for Adler for years.”
Peter gave Clinton a subtle gesture and both men got up. “Thanks for your help, Alan – but we’ve got to get back to the office.”
“That Ponzi scheme you’re working on – you’ll keep us informed, right?”
“Of course, as soon as we’re ready to make arrests, we’ll let you know. But right now, it looks like a lot of dead ends.”
“Ah, okay.”
Peter said nothing to Clinton until they were on the street. “Those emails – the ones you found in Caffrey’s files.”
“You mean the ones to Davis from his staff about the lack of evidence to prosecute Caffrey? And Davis’ instructions to get Caffrey to plead guilty, no matter what?”
“Yeah, those. Make copies of them, put the ones from the Justice Department’s files into the evidence lockup. As well as the affidavit from the former NTSB inspector. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
Clinton grinned. “Already done. Have had the same feelings.”
“This could get very messy, you know.”
“I’m looking forward to it. Been a little quiet lately. Too much mortgage fraud for my tastes.”
Peter laughed. “Hope you don’t regret those words.”
“I won’t. Pity Diana’s still out. She’s going to be sorry she missed this.”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Neal was tired. The last week had been no more busier that usual, but he wasn’t sleeping. Between Peter Burke’s chaotic entry into his life and Moz’s paranoiac concern, Neal couldn’t seem to get his brain to shut down. For the last few days, he was going to bed and waking up with splitting headache that no amount of aspirin could seem to fix.
But at least Burke seemed to have given up on him. It had been a week and he hadn’t been back to the showroom, he hadn’t contacted Neal again, and according to Elizabeth, he hadn’t even called her. Maybe it wasn’t too much to hope that the FBI found someone else to identify Adler.
It was a short walk from the subway to his apartment, an old two-family house on the border of Long Island City and Astoria that had been chopped up into six tiny apartments. Probably in another decade, this stretch of no-man’s land between the industrial and residential would become trendy and hipsters would call it “LIC-As” with a straight face.
It was all Neal could do to put one foot in front of the other, and he couldn’t stop thinking about the bed at the end of his journey.
Except that his rendezvous with his mattress was going to be delayed. Peter Burke was sitting on the front stoop, waiting for him in the rapidly fading daylight.
Neal stopped and just shook his head. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
“What if I came here to apologize?”
“Apologize for what? Harassing me? Threatening me?”
Burke sighed. “I wasn’t in possession of all the facts.”
That startled Neal. “What facts?”
“Like how you were railroaded.”
Neal felt like he’d been punched. “What the hell are you talking about, Agent Burke?”
He waited for a pedestrian to pass between them. “Look, can we talk inside? I don’t think this is a conversation you want your neighbors to hear.”
Neal agreed, but wondered if he should call Moz and let him know what was going on. Burke read his mind.
“You may want to call your lawyer.”
He laughed at that. “Then come on, I’ll call Moz when we get upstairs.” Neal pushed past Burke, startled by the heat the man radiated. A stray and inappropriate thought crossed his mind. Something about being a cat and just basking in that warmth.
His apartment was on the third floor, a tiny efficiency with one redeeming feature – a back wall of windows that faced the Manhattan skyline. This was his favorite time of day – the sun setting behind the spires on a crystal clear autumn night, airplanes dotting the sky like so many stars in motion.
Neal gestured for Burke to take a seat, but the man didn’t, choosing instead to look around, to poke at the detritus of his life. Neal couldn’t help but comment, “Welcome to the typical domicile of a vulgaris Americanorum scelestus.
Burke grinned. “Somehow, I doubt that anything in here is indicative of a common criminal.” He nodded pointedly at the work in progress on the easel, a copy of Degas’ Entrance of the Masked Dancers. “You’re very good.”
Neal stuck his hands in his pants pockets, a little embarrassed. “I can copy anything.”
“That still takes talent. I love art, but I can’t draw worth squat. Even my circles come out looking like demented eggplants.”
He had to chuckle. “You want to know a secret? It’s very hard to draw a good circle freehand, let alone a perfect one.” He picked up a piece of charcoal and a sketchpad, and demonstrated. His effort, while not in the demented eggplant class, was more than a little lopsided. “See?”
“You’re just trying to make me feel better.”
“Maybe.” Neal felt himself reluctantly warming towards Agent Burke. He really didn’t want to like the man, but he couldn’t help but respond to the gentle self-deprecation. Anxious to get back on a more adversarial footing, he changed the subject. “You said you came to apologize, that you didn’t have all the facts.”
“And I also said that I know you were railroaded into a confession.”
Neal rubbed his forehead; the low grade headache he had was getting worse. “And you’re more than five years too late. I took the deal the US Attorney offered, I did my time.”
“You also paid a hefty fine.”
“Well, Adler allegedly walked away with billions.”
“Allegedly?” Burke latched onto that word like a terrier onto a rat. “You don’t think he did it?”
Neal was too tired, and suddenly feeling too sick to argue. “What about innocent until proven guilty? Aren’t you here to get my cooperation so you can have the person you think is Adler arrested?”
Burke didn’t answer; he just stared at Neal, then pushed past him and headed into the small kitchen area. “Do you smell that?”
“Smell what?” Neal sniffed, but he couldn’t smell anything. He’d been congested for a few days, which only made the headache worse.
“Rotten eggs. I think you have a gas leak.” Burke picked up his coat and pulled at Neal. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
“Hold on.” Neal dug in his heels; he didn’t understand what was happening. Peter just pulled him out of the apartment and down the stairs, banging on his neighbors’ doors, shouting at them to get out of the building.
“What’s happening?” He stopped, confused.
“Come on, don’t be an idiot.” Burke pushed him and he stumbled, but suddenly there were other people in the hallway, all equally bewildered.
“Everybody, get outside, now.” The agent’s voice boomed above the babble and they obeyed. Outside, Burke remained in charge, herding everyone to the other side of the street, something about getting to a safe distance.
In the cool air, some of the murkiness lifted and Neal took a deep breath, trying to clear his head a bit more. Burke was on his cell phone and in the distance, he heard sirens. Four fire engines approached, as well as a pair of ambulances.
He felt detached, not quite part of the emergency. It was probably an effect of the gas he inhaled.
“How are you doing?” Burke joined him.
Neal shrugged; it was almost too much effort to answer.
The man peered into his face, but Neal turned away and closed his eyes. It was full dark and the reflection of the lights from the emergency vehicles on Burke’s skin was making his headache even worse. All he wanted to do was go back inside and get into bed.
“Here, over here.” Burke was calling out and an EMT approached. “He needs to be checked out.”
The woman smiled, saying “Let’s take a look” before she flashed a light in his eyes and took his pulse.
Neal answered her questions and tried to remain patient as she kept asking his name, his age, his address over and over.
“Okay – probably could use a few minutes on some oxygen – but otherwise, you’ll be fine.” She pulled him over to the ambulance, wrapped a thermal blanket around him and hooked tubing around his head before inserting a nasal cannula. “Inhale normally, just let the flow do its work.”
The oxygen cut through some of the fog that had wrapped around his brain. He watched as the EMT checked out Agent Burke then give him the all-clear. No, not Agent Burke, but Peter. He deserved a first name after saving his life. It was a pity he was such a dedicated member of the Bureau, more than a pity, really. If Neal hadn’t been so used up, such an empty shell, he might have reconsidered Elizabeth’s offer to set them up. Peter was everything he liked in a man, strong, determined, principled. Neal laughed at that thought – fidelity, bravery, integrity. Everything he once wanted to be.
Neal closed his eyes and tried to stop feeling so sorry for himself.
“Hey, you all right?” His field of vision was filled with the concerned face of Peter Burke.
Neal thought for a moment. “Yeah, I think so.” He rubbed his temples; the headache that had been such a fixture for the past few days was finally dissipating. “Did they say anything about what’s going on?”
“No – and before you ask, I have no idea when you’ll be able to get back into your apartment.”
“Shit.” But it wasn’t all that bad. He had a place to go for the night. Neal reached into his jacket for his phone, but Peter plucked it away. “What?”
“Who are you calling?”
Normally, the dictatorial tone would have sent Neal’s hackles up, but he answered the question. “I was going to call El, see if she could put me up for the night.”
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”
Neal was about to disagree, but remembered the conversation he’d had with Moz at the start of the week. If Moz knew about all those deaths, then the FBI did, too. “Okay.” He reached for the phone, but Peter put it in his pocket.
“Who are you going to call?”
“Ghostbusters?” He must definitely be feeling better, because the snark came without thinking.
Peter grinned. “Seriously, who?”
“Moz – he’s got places – “
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, either.”
Damn, Peter was probably right. In another life, he’d take a room at the Palace, but in another life, he wouldn’t be living in a crappy apartment that had gas leaks. Neal tried to remember if he had enough free on his single, ultra-low limit credit card for a room at one of the cheap, anonymous motels near LaGuardia airport. Maybe Peter could give him a lift.
“You doing okay?” Peter gave him that look again.
Neal pulled out the cannula. The stink from the plastic was making his headache return. He took a deep breath and regretted it, inhaling the diesel fumes from the emergency vehicles was almost as bad. “I think so.”
“Then come on.” Burke tugged at his sleeve.
“You’re taking me to a motel?”
“Nah, someplace better. You’re coming home with me.”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Peter wasn’t sure what he’d expected when he went over to Caffrey’s. Talk, tell him the truth in as much as he was able to, and most importantly, try and establish some level of trust between them. He didn’t expect to be taking Neal Caffrey home with him like some lost puppy. But he didn’t see what choice he had.
He didn’t believe, for a single moment, that the gas leak in Neal’s apartment building was accidental. Thankfully, Caffrey seemed to recognize that possibility, too. Peter could have let him find shelter with Mozzie – the little guy was resourceful and probably could keep Neal reasonably safe – but this was a golden opportunity. One he couldn’t let pass him by.
They were almost to the Triboro – Peter could never think of it as the “RFK Bridge” – before Neal said anything.
“You really can drop me at a motel. I promise not to get in touch with El. Or Moz.”
“Nah – it’s no biggie. Besides, we need to finish our conversation.”
“Yeah, that’s true. You were apologizing.”
Stopped at a traffic light, Peter looked over at his passenger. Even though he was holding up his end of the conversation, Neal had his eyes closed. In the flickering light of the passing vehicles, he looked like some wonderful, terrible angel come to rest.
“I was, and I will.”
“Tell me, will you be apologizing on behalf of your employer, or is this a more personal thing?” Neal still didn’t open his eyes.
“For the moment, it’s more personal.”
“But if I cooperate, if I give you what you need, will the apology become ‘official’?”
Peter understood just what Caffrey was implying. He answered honestly. “No. Your assistance will not result in anything other than the gratitude of the FBI in helping to close a case.”
“No quid pro quo, then?”
“No.”
“Ah. It would be tricky for you if it did. My veracity would then be called into question if I benefited, somehow.”
Peter wasn’t surprised that Neal made the connection so quickly. Although a perfect GPA at Harvard and an MBA from LSE were indicative of a high degree of intellectual intelligence, it didn’t necessarily guarantee ‘smart’. And if there was one quality he liked in a person, that was it.
For a Thursday evening, the traffic into Manhattan was surprisingly heavy. A truck in the right lane cut him off and Peter hit the brakes, cursing.
“Hey, slow down. No need to impress me with your Formula 1 skills.” Neal finally sat up and took notice of the surroundings. “Where are we?”
Peter passed through the E-Z Pass booth and turned north, onto the FDR. “Heading uptown. I live in Riverside.”
“Hmm, I would have taken you more as a Tudor City kind of guy.”
“I’m an FBI agent, not a Wall Street tycoon. Tudor City’s a little out of my price range.”
“Tudor City’s not that outrageous.”
“Maybe if all you want is a studio or an efficiency. For half the money I’d pay for a shoebox downtown, I have a two-bedroom, two-bathroom apartment with a full kitchen. And a view of the bridge.”
Neal didn’t answer, and Peter snuck another look. The man was looking out the passenger window, apparently absorbed by the passing traffic. There was something about Neal Caffrey that sent messages to his gut. Not the warning kind, but he felt like he was missing something, something that should have been obvious.
Maybe if he just tried talking to him, he’d find some of those missing pieces. “You like working for Elizabeth?”
“Yeah.”
That’s it? “Known her long?”
“A while.”
Peter ground his teeth in frustration. Getting information out of Caffrey was like pulling a hen’s teeth. “I guess I’m kind of surprised you’re satisfied with being just a bookkeeper.”
“What? No threats about sending me back to prison if there’s so much as a penny’s discrepancy in the accounts?”
Peter wasn’t surprised at the bitterness, remembering their less-than-auspicious introduction last week. “No, and I know you’re not a criminal. I figured you would have tried to get back into the game.”
“Game?”
“You know, wheeling and dealing. You were quite the star in the M&A firmament.”
“That was before …” Neal stopped, as if he couldn’t say the name.
“Still, you must have had connections. Someone would have been interested in taking you on.”
“I pled guilty, Peter. My friends were mildly sympathetic, but mostly relieved that they weren’t in my position. No one was going to hire me, not while I was still reeking of prison and such a close connection to – “ Neal paused and swallowed, but this time he got the name out. “Vincent Adler.”
Peter wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t belabor the subject. “So – you and Elizabeth?”
“Me and Elizabeth, what?”
He sighed, trying not to be such a bull in a china shop. “Are you – ?”
“Are we, what?”
Now Peter had a feeling Neal was being deliberately obtuse. “Are you two seeing each other?”
“We see each other every day, pretty much – unless El has an appointment that keeps her out of the office.”
“That’s not what I mean. Are you dating?”
“Dating?”
“Yeah, dating? Romantically involved?”
“Is that really any of your business?” Peter couldn’t identify the odd emotion in that question.
“Look, I’m not asking for your intentions, it’s just that El is important to me and I don’t want to see her hurt.”
“El’s important to me, too.”
“So you are dating.”
“Well, actually – that would be kind of awkward.” Neal chuckled, but it wasn’t a mean sound.
Peter wasn’t sure what was so funny, but he plowed ahead. “Why? Because you work for her?”
“No, because she’s been trying to fix me up with you for the last few months.”
Peter hit the brakes, hard. “Damn it.”
“Everything all right?” Neal’s tone was positively angelic.
“I should have seen that coming a mile out. But no… I just stepped right into it.”
“What’s the matter? What should you have seen?”
“I have a ninety-three percent conviction rating. That’s one of the highest in the Bureau. You know why?”
“No, I don’t.”
Peter didn’t blame Neal for sounding puzzled. “My gut. I have learned to trust my instincts. They are pretty damn good.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“They are one dimensional, though. They only seem to function when it comes to criminal matters. I knew that my neighbor – who I’d met once – was dealing drugs. I knew you weren’t a criminal as soon as we finished talking last week. But when it comes to anything else, those damn instincts are practically nonexistent.”
“Ah, you’re saying that you don’t have a functioning gaydar.”
“Looks that way.”
“Well, many men in your position don’t.”
“My position?” Peter was confused by Neal’s cryptic reply.
“Yeah – in the closet.”
Peter took a deep breath, tapped on the brakes and coasted to a stop at the light. He took another deep breath, to avoid the inevitable explosion of temper. “Why do you think I’m in the closet?”
“Well, doesn’t the FBI have a policy?”
“You mean ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’?”
“Yeah – that’s it.”
“That was the military. You probably missed it, being incarcerated, but that policy was repealed about two years ago. The FBI doesn’t have a policy – or if it does, it’s ‘don’t ask, don’t care’. I’m not in the closet, I never was.”
“But you were married.”
“I was. So, Elizabeth never told you why we were married?”
“No, and I didn’t want to pry.”
“Ah, well – it’s not my story to tell, but rest assured, it had nothing to do with me needing a beard.”
Neal lapsed into silence and Peter decided to let the conversation drop. It had started to drizzle, so it was probably best that he stayed focused on the traffic, rather than on awkwardly personal questions. Soon enough, he turned onto Riverside Drive and the traffic gods were smiling as the lights stayed green. Five minutes later, he pulled into a small, residents-only parking lot, surprisingly grateful to be home.
His apartment was on the sixth floor, and as he’d told Neal, it overlooked the river and the George Washington Bridge. He’d bought the place almost immediately after relocating back to New York. El had offered to let him stay at the house in Brooklyn, and he’d taken her up on the offer, but only long enough to realize that he didn’t belong there anymore. Not that they’d argued or rubbed each other wrong. It just felt like he was moving backwards.
“Nice place – I bet the light is spectacular.” Neal headed right to the bay windows.
“It is. One of the reasons why I took this place.”
Neal stayed plastered to the window and Peter kept the lights on low, so he could enjoy the view. He went to the fridge and retrieved two bottles of beer before joining Neal and offering him one. They stood there – and the silence, this time, was companionable.
At least until Neal spoke. “I’m a target, aren’t I?”
“Yeah. I’ve sent in ERT to work with the fire department, and I’m thinking that they won’t find anything that points to a deliberate rupture, but if someone can manage to give a person a cardiac infection, he can make a gas leak seem like an accident. They’ll probably just turn up a worn fitting, something to blame on age and bad maintenance. You would have either been killed in an explosion or died from inhalation.”
Neal didn’t say anything and Peter could feel the tension radiating off him. “Moz told me to set up a failsafe. He thought I was in danger, too.”
“Failsafe?”
Neal didn’t answer right away and Peter wondered if this was heading into dangerous territory.
“He wanted me to make a sketch of Adler and give it to him. Moz said he’d put out word that if anything happened to me, the sketch would go to Interpol.”
Peter’s appreciation for the quirky little guy went up about a dozen notches. “Did you?”
“No.”
This was one of the moments when Peter knew he needed to listen to his gut, which was telling him to back off. He finished the beer and casually asked, “How does pizza for dinner sound?”
Neal gave him a grateful smile. “As long as there are no green peppers, I’m good.”
“No worries, not a fan either.” He walked away from the window, tugging at Neal. “Let me show you the guest room. It doubles as my office and storage space, but there’s a good bed and nice view from the window, too.”
“Windows are good. Thanks.”
Peter was a little puzzled by that comment until he remembered that Neal spent four years in a small room without any windows.
In truth, he rarely used the second bedroom as an office, preferring to work in the living room or the dining area, and tried to remember when he’d last changed the sheets. Or even if the bed was made.
It was and, thankfully, the room was fairly well organized. He’d forgotten that he’d taken a bunch of boxes down to his storage locker. It wasn’t grand, but it did look more like a guest room than a dumping ground.
The first thing Neal did, not surprisingly, was go to the window and open the shades.
“Okay, so it’s not such a nice view.” Peter didn’t know why he felt the need to apologize for the view of the building’s small courtyard.
“It’s fine. Thank you.”
The moment turned awkward for Peter as he realized that he was alone in a bedroom with Neal Caffrey, a man his ex-wife thought would be a romantic prospect for him. “Um, I’m going to order that pizza – no green peppers, right?”
Neal smiled, and for the first time, Peter got the full effect of that expression.
“Right. Ah – can I have my cell phone back?”
He didn’t exactly want to return it, but couldn’t think of a reason to justify keeping it. He handed it back to Neal.
“I need to call Moz, need to tell him what’s happened.”
Peter nodded. “Yeah – good idea. I’ll give you some privacy. Join me in the living room when you’re done.”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Neal couldn’t reach Moz, and left a brief and semi-cryptic message, instead. “I’m fine, in the Suit’s closet, no moths.” Even if Mozzie didn’t understand, he’d call back anyway, if just to get it deciphered.
He could hear Peter’s half of a conversation, and it didn’t sound like he was talking to the local pizza place. “Be careful, Clinton. We still don’t know what we’re dealing with. I don’t want to add anyone else to the list of bodies.”
There was a pause.
“Caffrey’s safe with me.” And then, No, you don’t have to send the van around, we’ll be fine.”
The van? That puzzled Neal.
“Look, we know the truth about Neal Caffrey, and we’re not the only ones. Can you get in touch with our old friend? We may need ears.”
Neal wondered just who that old friend was and what clandestine service he worked for. Peter ended the call and Neal figured he might as well join Peter in the living room.
“Hey there.”
Peter looked up from a file. “Hey, yourself. Pizza’s ordered. Just checked in with the office – which I presume you heard.”
Neal shook his head. “El said you were a straight shooter.”
A charming flush darkened the other man’s cheeks. “Yeah, well.”
“Are you really sure it’s safe for me to stay here?”
“It should be. Whoever is behind this is subtle, working well below the radar. Other than Kate Moreau’s death, everyone else died in pretty ordinary circumstances.”
“Adam Markham was murdered.”
“A drug buy gone wrong – he was in a bad neighborhood and flashing a lot of cash. Plenty of witnesses but no one saw anything.”
“Yeah – and that makes sense. Adam was a cocaine user and a risk junkie. Surprised he didn’t die in a BASE jumping accident.”
Peter nodded. “Anyway, I can’t see the man behind the curtain making a frontal assault, not on an FBI agent’s home. Too much publicity. You’ll stick with me until we figure this out.”
Neal wasn’t sure he wanted to fall into this plan so easily. “How’s that going to work, Agent Burke? I have a job to do.”
“Well, you’ll have to take time off. El is giving you paid vacation, right?”
Neal sighed, trying not get visibly frustrated. “Yes, and that’s not the problem. I don’t like the idea of being cooped up, locked in a cage. You have to understand that.”
Peter grimaced. “Yeah, I guess I do. But it’s either me or the U.S. Marshals and a safe house, which is even more of a cage. And I can’t guarantee your safety unless I have my eyes on you.”
“You don’t trust the Marshals?” Neal swallowed, the idea of being subject to the whims of the Witness Security program was nauseating.
“It’s not that I don’t trust them, it’s that I don’t trust them.” Peter scrubbed a hand over his face. “Look, I only trust my own team. And there was an incident a few years ago.”
“Incident?”
“Yeah, can’t really go into it, but we had a situation that resulted in a general housecleaning. So let’s just say that I’m not exactly the Marshal Service’s favorite agent.”
“I guess, then, I’m cuffed to your side until this is over.”
“Yeah, I guess you are.” Peter gave him a twisted smile. “And don’t worry, I’ll talk to Elizabeth, I’ll make her understand.”
“Thanks.” There was really nothing more he could say. He wasn’t really worried about losing his job – more that El would make a complete and total mess of the accounting system he’d needed the better part of a year to set up. Maybe he could work remotely.
Peter turned his attention back to his files and folders and Neal took the opportunity to investigate the apartment. It was a lovely example of pre-War architecture with generous proportions in the living space, original art deco details. Despite the fairly ordinary furnishings, it reminded him of something out of an old movie – one of those screwball comedies from the thirties.
A buzzer sounded and Peter got up. “That’s the pizza. Although I doubt the delivery guy is a professional hit man, I’ll go down and get it. Better to be safe than sorry.”
To Neal’s surprise, Peter put back on his shoulder holster and checked his weapon. He didn’t bother with a jacket.
“Wait here. If I don’t come back, call this number.” He handed Neal a piece of paper with a name – Clinton Jones – and a telephone number. “And whatever you do – if you do have to make the call – don’t answer the door until you’re sure it’s the FBI on the other side.”
Despite the deadly seriousness of Peter’s instructions, Neal joked, “Then just come back. I’m hungry.”
Peter gave him a smile and left.
Positive that Peter would be back with the pizza in a few short minutes, Neal found his way to the kitchen. It was definitely pre-War, a narrow galley with smaller versions of modern appliances. It didn’t take much to find plates and silverware. He took out knives and forks but put them back. Peter Burke was not the kind of man who ate pizza with a knife and fork.
Neal couldn’t find napkins, so he grabbed the roll of paper towels and couldn’t help but feel like this was really just a very strange first date.
He’d finished setting the table when he heard a key turn in the lock. “Just me – everything’s fine.” Peter came in, carrying the promised box with a grease-stained paper bag on top. “I got us some zeppolis for dessert.”
“I take it that the delivery guy wasn’t a professional hitter.”
“No, just Aldo, who’s been making deliveries for Uncle Pietro’s for the last fifteen years.”
“Your, er – accessories didn’t freak him out?” Neal pointed with his chin at Peter’s shoulder rig and weapon.
“Nah – Aldo’s eldest is a detective with the Two-Six. He’s accustomed to this.” Peter set the box down, but to Neal’s surprise, didn’t take the holster off. “Thanks for setting the table. Want another beer now?”
“Sure. No problem.”
Peter got a pair of fresh bottles from the kitchen and they sat down to eat. Neal had joked about being hungry, but was kind of shocked to realize just what an appetite he actually had.
They both accounted for two slices and while the contents of that brown bag smelled enticing, he figured he’d wait a little while, let the pizza digest. Peter told him to sit while he cleaned up and Neal just moved into the living room and enjoyed the view. A fog was rolling in, draping the bridge in an orange glow.
Peter swapped his beer for a glass of something – club soda – and sat down across from him.
“You want me sober for a reason?”
“Yeah.” Peter sighed and drained his own glass. “We need to talk, Neal.”
“I guess we do.” He wondered how much pressure Peter was going to put on him to get him to help identify Adler. He was surprised, though, when Peter asked him something completely different.
“Why did you do it?”
“Do what?” Neal wasn’t being deliberately obtuse, he really didn’t know what Peter was asking about.
“Damn it, don’t play word games with me. You know what I’m talking about. Why did you plead guilty?”
Ah. “Are you so sure I wasn’t?” It was second nature to deflect like this.
“Caffrey, I swear… ” Burke’s frustration was palpable.
“Why is it important to you?”
“Because, in my experience – and that experience is considerable – innocent men don’t plead guilty without a good reason.”
“And you’re positive I’m innocent?”
“Yes.”
The simple nature of Peter’s answer gave Neal pause. Whatever his initial motives, Peter now seemed to care about him. It had been a long time since someone believed in him like this. Not that El didn’t count, but she was family.
“It’s simple. I was meant to be someone else.”
“I don’t understand. What does that mean?”
Neal took a deep breath. This wasn’t going to be easy. He’d never told anyone about this, not Elizabeth, not even Vincent. Only one other person knew the truth and she had been in a residential care facility for almost a decade. “When I was three, my father was killed. He was a cop, shot in the line of duty. A hero.”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Peter didn’t say anything. He just let Neal tell the story at his own pace.
“When I was little, I wanted to be a cop, just like him. That was all I could imagine doing. I had this master plan – I’d graduate high school, apply to the police academy, and become the youngest police captain in the history of the city. I’d be a hero like my dad, only better, because I wouldn’t get shot and killed. It was a little boy’s dream.”
“What happened?”
Neal shrugged. “Life, I guess. I found other things that interested me. But when I was in college – “
“You went to Harvard.” During the past few days, Peter had memorized Neal Caffrey’s biography. He knew about his education, but there had been nothing in the record about his father.
“Yeah, Harvard. In my junior year, I had an open elective slot. I’d been on track to go to Business School, but I was also flirting with the idea of practicing law. So, I took a class in criminal justice. It was like a whole new world opened up. The professor was a retired FBI agent, a former assistant director, and she made me dream those old dreams again. But different – instead of the local PD, I’d apply to the FBI and make my mark there.”
Peter vaguely recalled the criminal justice class on Neal’s transcript.
“And did you?”
Neal gave him a look, like he was asking a question that he already knew the answer to.
“Yes. The professor was thrilled with the idea; she thought I’d be a brilliant candidate. She gave me an excellent recommendation, she corralled other retired agents, a member of congress to spend time and interview me so I could have their recommendations, too. Normally the FBI requires a couple of years of post-college experience, but they do make exceptions for qualified Ivy League graduates.”
Peter nodded. “I know that.”
Neal blinked, “You?”
“Harvard, Class of ‘87. Went right into the new agent training program.”
The look Neal gave him was both bitter and envious. “Lucky man.”
Peter brought the conversation back around to Neal’s story. “What happened?”
“Don’t you know?”
“No, I don’t.”
“I would have thought that it was all in my FBI file.”
“Not the one I’ve seen.” Peter was troubled. This information should have been in the file sent over from the Justice Department. “You applied?”
Neal seemed to fold in on himself. “And was rejected.”
Peter wasn’t sure what to say. Neal sounded like he was still heartbroken over the rebuff. “Thousands of qualified candidates apply every year; the Bureau accepts only a small fraction. I know it must seem unfair, after everything – all the encouragement and recommendations.”
“I know. But the professor – the one who’d encouraged me to apply – was shocked that the FBI turned me down. She told me that she’d never seen the Bureau reject an Ivy League applicant with a perfect GPA, plus firearms training, and a Congressional recommendation. She said it didn’t make sense and she’d find out what happened, what I’d need to do to reapply.”
Peter wasn’t sure that that was even possible, but it sounded like Neal’s professor was someone with a lot of juice, so maybe. “Did she get an answer for you?”
“No. And the funny thing was that after a week of waiting, I called her. She didn’t return my call. I kept calling and her secretary told me that she wasn’t taking my calls and to stop trying to contact her. I tracked her down after class and she practically ran from me.”
“That seems bizarre.”
“Yeah, it was. And I got called to the Dean’s office and told that under no uncertain terms was I was to try to talk to the professor or try to see her or otherwise make contact. I had a stellar academic record and wouldn’t it be a shame if I had a black mark on it? The Dean used words like restraining order and stalking and inappropriate student/teacher contact.”
Peter didn’t know what to say to that.
Neal continued the story. “So, I had no choice and I let it go. After all I had obligations.”
That piqued Peter’s curiosity. “Obligations?”
“My mother. She was becoming … unwell. I knew I was going to need to have to take care of her, so I told myself that becoming an FBI agent wasn’t a good idea. A government salary probably wouldn’t stretch too far supporting both of us. So, when Wharton and the London School of Economics came knocking, I jumped at the opportunity.”
“You were top of your class at LSE. I read your Master’s Thesis on competitive market strategies.”
Neal laughed. “After the review committee, you’re probably only the third person to do so.”
“Third?”
Neal’s smile was bitter. “My mother and Vincent Adler were the other two.”
“Ah.”
They lapsed into silence, but Peter was patient. Neal wasn’t a man who’d let the point slip away.
“I suppose you’re wondering at what this has to do with why I pleaded guilty.”
“I figured you’d get around to it.”
“Thanks.”
“For what?” Neal’s gratitude was puzzling.
“Being patient, listening.” He looked at his hands. “I’ve never told this to anyone, not even Elizabeth.”
Peter again wondered at Neal’s connection to his ex-wife, but this wasn’t the time to press for answers.
“So – the end of the story. The reason why Neal Caffrey decided to stop fighting and go to prison.”
“You don’t have to tell me. Not if it hurts too much.”
“No, I should. It’s not like you’re going to use it against me.”
Peter marveled at Neal’s faith in him. It didn’t seem like he’d earned that level of trust. “What happened?”
“You know that the Justice Department had tried to get me to roll on Adler – before Adler disappeared.”
“Yes, that was in the file. You refused to give evidence, even with an offer of immunity.”
“I knew nothing, but more than that, I didn’t believe that Adler was guilty of anything they were accusing him of. I wasn’t part of the trading operation, but I …” Neal shook his head, the memories troubling him. “I trusted Vincent, and I wasn’t going to lie to the government and help them make a nonexistent case against someone who did nothing wrong.”
“Loyalty is important.” Peter tried not to pity Neal.
“And it’s also a two-way street. I was loyal to Vincent; I thought he’d be loyal to me.”
“But he wasn’t.”
Neal shrugged. “Obviously not. And no one else in the organization backed me after Adler took off. They were too busy striking their own deals.”
“You could have fought the charges. The Justice Department had no evidence and you would have walked away clean.”
“I didn’t know that. I thought that maybe the others had pointed the finger at me. For a while, the last few years, Vincent and I were very close. There was some resentment.”
Not for the first time, Peter noticed how Neal’s tone changed when he talked about Adler. It was something to file away, another Neal Caffrey mystery to explore.
“The U.S. Attorney said that the Government had a smoking gun, there was absolute proof of my involvement in three years’ worth of insider trading, stock manipulation, fraudulent asset reporting. You name it, I’d been involved in it. He threatened to have my assets seized under some IRS rules about income and property obtained from criminal enterprises. The IRS apparently doesn’t need a conviction, they can seize anything with minimal evidence.”
Peter was pretty sure that that wasn’t completely true or applicable in this case.
Neal paused and wiped at his mouth. Peter thought he looked like he was becoming ill. He was becoming ill, listening to this miscarriage of justice.
“My attorney – not Moz, you know – he was making noises about negotiating a plea. After all, if the Government took my bank accounts, he wouldn’t get paid. And I had my mother to worry about. She was in residential care already, and needed full-time nursing in a private facility. I had to be able to pay for that.”
“So you took the plea, negotiated with the Justice Department to set up a trust for your mother’s care, and went to jail.”
Neal shook his head. “No – not then. They were putting the screws on me – even threatening me with life, but I was still convinced that it was all a mistake. I was very naive.”
“How did they get you to change your mind, then?” Peter was almost afraid of Neal’s answer.
“They showed me a file. An old file.”
Peter thought back to the documents that he’d gotten from the U.S. Attorney’s office. There was no old file or reference to an old file in the prosecution’s papers. “What was in it?”
“Remember what I told you about my father?”
“Yes – you said he’d died when you were three. He was killed in the line of duty.”
Neal laughed, but it wasn’t a nice sound. “He was killed in a drug bust gone bad. What I didn’t know was that he was the one selling the drugs. He and his partner where working for the Irish mob and were the key players in a heroin distribution ring that stretched from Boston to Miami. The Feds were onto him, but the local precinct – my father’s precinct – didn’t know that the Feds were investigating. They raided the warehouse where a major buy was taking place. My father was killed in the takedown. Killed by his own squad, who covered everything up when they realized what happened.”
Peter just sat there, appalled.
“I grew up believing that my father was a good man, a hero. That he was someone to look up to and that his memory should be honored. He was nothing more than a liar and a drug dealer and a murderer. He’d been suspected in a dozen killings – rival gang members, whole families of the men who’d gotten in his way. He was my father and he was evil. That’s why my application to the FBI was rejected. Just imagine, James Caffrey’s son as an FBI agent? The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, apparently.”
“No – that’s not true. You were a good man, you are a good man. You’re nothing like him.”
Neal didn’t seem to hear him. “I didn’t want to believe it, but it was all there. There was a file three inches thick, detailing dozens of terrible crimes he committed. If the local PD hadn’t jumped the gun twenty-five years before, James Caffrey would have been tried and convicted and spent the rest of his life in prison, instead of becoming a hero.”
There was something about Neal’s story that bothered Peter. Not that he thought Neal was lying. But there were things that didn’t make sense.
“In the end, I just gave up. There seemed no point in fighting anymore. At least my lawyer struck the best possible deal for me. Four years, I could put a couple of million into a trust for my mother, and turn the rest over to the government.”
“Neal – ”
Neal cut him off. “No, don’t. It’s done. I served my time. I got out and was lucky enough to have someone help me get a fresh start. I don’t want to look back anymore.”
“No regrets?”
“Oh, not hardly, but I can’t dine out on regrets.” Neal picked up his glass and finished the club soda, grimacing at the flat staleness.
Peter wanted to make promises. He wanted to exonerate Neal, to get his life back for him, to make the people who deliberately destroyed such a promising future pay for what they did. But Peter knew those promises were dangerous. Almost as dangerous as the sympathy he had for Neal. And still not even half as dangerous as this attraction that felt so damned inevitable.
“I’ll help you.” Neal’s quiet words startled Peter.
“Why? What changed your mind?”
“Adler tried to kill me. And everyone else in my apartment building, too. I can’t ignore that and I can’t keep pretending that Vincent isn’t as evil as my father. If I’m really not my father’s son, I need to do something to prove that.”
Peter was relieved, but worried. He knew that keeping Neal safe was going to be difficult. Safe from Adler, and safe from him, too. But all he said was “Thank you.”
FIN
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke, Clinton Jones, Mozzie, (Peter/Neal)
Word Count: ~16,700
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Beta Credit:
miri_thompson, coffeethyme4me Summary: A near-canon A/U, where Neal Caffrey isn’t a forger and thief, but young Wall Street wizard who legitimately worked for Vincent Adler. He’s just out of prison, having served four years for investment fraud. He finds a job as a bookkeeper for Elizabeth Burke, Peter Burke’s ex-wife. Elizabeth and Peter have remained on excellent terms, and El wants to set Neal up on a blind date with him. But that’s not going to work as Neal’s past and Peter’s caseload collide.
Author’s Note: Written for my sweet friend
sinfulslasher for Day Four of my 2013 Fic-Can-Ukah meme, for the prompt “I Was Meant to Be Someone Else”. She said “writer’s choice, but I love me some Neal angst.” “The Suits are digging through your life, you know.”
Neal took a sip of his espresso and winced. It was cold and bitter and probably was awful when it was freshly made. “I know. Nothing to stop them.”
“I could lay down some false trails; feed them some disinformation, if you want.”
“Moz, no – “
“It couldn’t hurt, and it would be kind of fun to watch them chase their tails.”
“Moz, please don’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’ll come back and bite me in the ass, that’s why.”
“You’re not going to give the Suits what they want?”
“No, not if I don’t have to.”
“They can compel you, but if you want to hold out, you know I’ll be right there with you.”
Neal had to smile. “Actually, Moz, you won’t. I’ll be the one in jail on a material witness order; you’ll be home, in your bed, curled up with your favorite conspiracy theories.”
“Yeah, well, but I’ll be with you in spirit.”
“Don’t worry. I doubt it will come to that. I was just the first on their list. I’m sure the Feds will get what they need from Wylie or Hunter. Those two wouldn’t hesitate to roll over, given the right incentive.”
Moz got a strange look on his face.
“What?”
“Um, Neal – Wylie and Hunter are dead.”
“Well, Wylie doesn’t surprise me. He never took care of himself. But Hunter? He was fanatic about chasing the fountain of youth.”
“Neal – they’re all dead.”
“What do you mean they’re all dead?”
“I mean that every single one of Adler’s inner circle, all of his golden boys – except you – are dead.”
“No, that can’t be right,” Neal protested.
“Even Kate Moreau, I very sorry to say.”
“Kate? She was perfectly healthy – you have to be mistaken.”
“There was a small airplane accident. She was killed when the jet crashed on takeoff.” Moz slid a file across the table. “All the data’s in there.”
Neal looked at it, stunned and saddened. He’d worked with these people for years, and while he had been furiously, bitterly angry that not one of them was willing to stand by him, to explain how he wasn’t involved in Adler’s trading organization, he never wanted any of them dead.
And Kate. Pretty, talented, helpless Kate Moreau, who was barely equipped to survive in New York, let alone to work for Vincent Adler. He’d delicately flirted with her, taking delight in making her blush. Taking even greater delight in making … No, better not think about that.
“You might want to think about setting up a failsafe, Neal.”
“Huh?” He looked up at Moz, not getting the man’s point. “Failsafe?”
“You’re the only one alive. Doesn’t that seem a little … sinister?”
Neal looked at the file and the list again. “You’re not saying that Vincent had these guys killed? That doesn’t even seem plausible.”
Moz just shrugged.
“I mean, how do you make someone get a fatal cardiac infection? Or have a stroke on an operating table? One in a hospital in London, the other in Chicago? Moz – I know you’re paranoid and you like to find conspiracy theories in the shape of the clouds, but that’s a little ridiculous.”
Moz crossed his arms over his chest and refused to back down. “Is it, Neal?”
“Look , if Adler was going to do something, why wait all this time? I mean, why not take care of me when I was in prison.”
“Don’t know, but you’re the only person left who can make a reliable identification…”
“Unless he’s had plastic surgery.”
“True – but let’s say he hasn’t or he won’t. And the Suits seem to think that they’ve got a bead on him. From where I sit, that puts a great big target on your back.”
Neal wasn’t prepared to admit that Moz was right, but it didn’t hurt to play along. “You think I should set up a failsafe – how?”
“You’ve got some talent, in the artistic department…”
“Not really, Moz. I can copy anything, but I’ve got no creativity.”
“You don’t need to be creative. You have a good eye and a better memory. I’ve seen your sketchbook.”
Neal didn’t know whether or not he should be outraged at the invasion of privacy. “I’m not following your logic, it’s even more twisted than usual.”
Moz signed and explained, “You can create a very detailed sketch of Adler, I’ll let it be known, through certain ‘channels’ that if anything happens to you, that sketch goes to every law enforcement agency in the world.”
Neal raised an eyebrow at the hyperbole, “In the world?”
“I can send it to Interpol and let them do the heavy lifting.”
Neal nodded, conceding the point. “I think you’re seeing things that aren’t there, Moz. Vincent has no reason to hurt me, and he had nothing to do with this.” He pushed to file back across the table.
“I think you’re making a big mistake, mon frère. Think about it.”
“I will.” Neal humored Moz, figuring that if he didn’t, he wouldn’t stop nagging at him.
But Mozzie wasn’t fooled. “I mean it, Neal. Watch your back and don’t take any candy from strangers.”
Peter had been an FBI agent for almost two decades. After so many years, the shine had long since worn off his badge. He wasn’t blind to the Bureau’s flaws, but he kept his own personal code of honor. Other agents might take shortcuts, find it easier to comply with questionable directives than challenge them, other agents might be more concerned about their conviction rating. But not him and not anyone in White Collar.
Peter was as proud of his division’s record on civil rights as he was on their closure percentages, and when the former jeopardized the latter, he was more than prepared to sacrifice the percentage points.
Which was why the icy knot of worry in his gut had turned to an acid ball of disgust when Clinton came up to his office to give him the highlights.
“Caffrey was railroaded.”
“What?”
“Justice had nothing on him.”
Peter believed Clinton, but needed to play devil’s advocate. “So they got lucky that Caffrey decided to take the plea.”
“No, that’s not what I mean. The U.S. Attorney filed all sorts of charges against Neal Caffrey relating to Adler’s stock trading operation, everything from using inside information to fraudulently misrepresenting valuations, to looting client accounts.”
“Well, they were hoping something would stick. It’s not uncommon to put up a sweeping indictment.”
“It is when there’s not a single shred of evidence linking the defendant to the crimes charged. At best, it was a fishing expedition. At worst, it was guilt by association.”
“Again, Caffrey pleaded guilty.” Peter knew where this was going.
“After the US Attorney told him he was facing life – which was a lie, and that they were going to seize all of his assets, which they couldn’t without any tangible connection to Adler’s criminal activities.”
“That’s all part of the Justice Department’s playbook.” If he was going to attack the conviction, he needed to make sure it was as vulnerable as he hoped.
“Peter – Neal Caffrey worked exclusively as Adler’s VP of Acquisitions. He bought companies for Adler; he didn’t have a single thing to do with any of the man’s investment accounts, trading accounts or client funds. He didn’t even have his own in house account – apparently Adler didn’t give him authority to make direct investments, he needed to go through the employee portfolio. Of all the people in the Adler organization, Neal Caffrey was the one person who should have walked away with a big ‘innocent’ stamp on his file.”
“Okay, that may be true – but how do you get past the fact that he took a guilty plea?”
Clinton shook his head. “Bad advice from his attorney? If the Government was threatening to seize his bank accounts, his attorney was probably looking to cut his losses and told him to take the plea. Wouldn’t be the first time a shark in a good suit sold out his client.”
“Did Caffrey have any dependents?”
Clinton flipped through the file he was holding. “Caffrey’s never been married, no kids, no significant others of record.”
“Parents?”
“Father’s listed as deceased, mother …” Clinton checked another file. “Mother’s in a nursing home in St. Louis. Been there for over a decade.”
“There’s your reason for the guilty plea.” Peter didn’t bother disguising his anger.
It was Jones’ turn to be confused. “I don’t follow.”
“Who do you think was paying for the nursing home?”
“Ah.” The light dawned.
“I bet if you check what Caffrey had and what he turned over to the Government, you’ll find a discrepancy. A million, maybe two. Probably there’s an irrevocable trust set up and when his mother dies, the balance of the trust reverts to the government.”
“Nice.” Clinton sounded disgusted.
Peter was sickened, but he needed to make sure. “Have you spoken with the attorney who was in charge of the prosecution?”
“No, not yet. Wanted to clear it with you first.”
“Good. I think I want to do the talking, find out just how they managed to pin the entire nine-billion dollar Ponzi scheme on the back of an innocent man.”
Clinton smiled, and it wasn’t a nice expression. “Can I come with you?”
“You want to see justice served?”
“With an apple in its mouth.”
Peter laughed, but that was the last bit of humor he’d appreciate for a while.
Alan Davis was your typical high-powered careerist in the US Attorney’s Office. He’d scored big with a handful of high-profile cases, including the plea deal for Neal Caffrey, and had quickly risen through the ranks in the most prestigious division of the Justice Department. He was now the second in command for the entire New York office.
Peter had worked with him on a number of prosecutions, but never had any serious doubts about the man’s ethics. Yes, he was hungry for the limelight, but so was his boss. And well-publicized convictions helped deter other would-be wrong-doers, or so the theory went. Peter now had to wonder how many of those convictions were as flawed as Caffrey’s was.
Peter got right to the point. “Neal Caffrey – you handled the prosecution.”
“I oversaw it, but there were others on the case.” Davis leaned back in his chair, a smug, self-satisfied expression on his face. “Adler might have slipped through our fingers, but we got his right-hand man.”
“Hmmm, his right-hand man. That would have been Rajeev Bhara, Adler’s VP for trading operations. The man who directed all of the stock trading operations for Adler’s funds,” Clinton supplied.
Peter added, with equal helpfulness, “Or Robert Caldwell, who was Adler’s Chief Financial Officer, and the one who signed off on all of the investment account statements.”
Davis shrugged. “Both men died before we could indict. Caffrey was – “
“What, convenient?” He wanted to add, Easy to manipulate? Too young and unsophisticated to see through your tricks? but decided not to antagonize the man. Not yet.
“What are you getting at, Burke?”
Peter ignored the question. “It wasn’t that you didn’t have any concrete evidence linking Caffrey to the charges, you should have known that Caffrey had no connection to Adler’s trading operations.”
“And yet, he copped a plea.” Davis was smug. “Anyways, that’s old water under an older bridge. It’s been half a decade since that prosecution. What’s your interest now?”
Mindful of the source of the information for the alleged sighting of Vincent Adler and even more so of the list of the dead, Peter decided to lie. “Caffrey’s name came up in connection with another Ponzi scheme, but when we did a background check, we found some surprising inconsistencies.”
Davis didn’t seem like he was buying that, so Peter added. “Frankly, I was a little annoyed – we spent two weeks chasing our tails with Caffrey and it turns out that it was a useless lead. I thought maybe you’d have some insight.”
The diversion worked. “Don’t know if I could help – Caffrey was smart, slick, I always got the feeling he could sell ice to Eskimos. You’ve talked to him, right?”
Peter didn’t confirm or deny. “Not all that smart, if he pled guilty to something he didn’t do.”
“Well, maybe he was guilty of something – he worked for Adler for years.”
Peter gave Clinton a subtle gesture and both men got up. “Thanks for your help, Alan – but we’ve got to get back to the office.”
“That Ponzi scheme you’re working on – you’ll keep us informed, right?”
“Of course, as soon as we’re ready to make arrests, we’ll let you know. But right now, it looks like a lot of dead ends.”
“Ah, okay.”
Peter said nothing to Clinton until they were on the street. “Those emails – the ones you found in Caffrey’s files.”
“You mean the ones to Davis from his staff about the lack of evidence to prosecute Caffrey? And Davis’ instructions to get Caffrey to plead guilty, no matter what?”
“Yeah, those. Make copies of them, put the ones from the Justice Department’s files into the evidence lockup. As well as the affidavit from the former NTSB inspector. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
Clinton grinned. “Already done. Have had the same feelings.”
“This could get very messy, you know.”
“I’m looking forward to it. Been a little quiet lately. Too much mortgage fraud for my tastes.”
Peter laughed. “Hope you don’t regret those words.”
“I won’t. Pity Diana’s still out. She’s going to be sorry she missed this.”
Neal was tired. The last week had been no more busier that usual, but he wasn’t sleeping. Between Peter Burke’s chaotic entry into his life and Moz’s paranoiac concern, Neal couldn’t seem to get his brain to shut down. For the last few days, he was going to bed and waking up with splitting headache that no amount of aspirin could seem to fix.
But at least Burke seemed to have given up on him. It had been a week and he hadn’t been back to the showroom, he hadn’t contacted Neal again, and according to Elizabeth, he hadn’t even called her. Maybe it wasn’t too much to hope that the FBI found someone else to identify Adler.
It was a short walk from the subway to his apartment, an old two-family house on the border of Long Island City and Astoria that had been chopped up into six tiny apartments. Probably in another decade, this stretch of no-man’s land between the industrial and residential would become trendy and hipsters would call it “LIC-As” with a straight face.
It was all Neal could do to put one foot in front of the other, and he couldn’t stop thinking about the bed at the end of his journey.
Except that his rendezvous with his mattress was going to be delayed. Peter Burke was sitting on the front stoop, waiting for him in the rapidly fading daylight.
Neal stopped and just shook his head. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
“What if I came here to apologize?”
“Apologize for what? Harassing me? Threatening me?”
Burke sighed. “I wasn’t in possession of all the facts.”
That startled Neal. “What facts?”
“Like how you were railroaded.”
Neal felt like he’d been punched. “What the hell are you talking about, Agent Burke?”
He waited for a pedestrian to pass between them. “Look, can we talk inside? I don’t think this is a conversation you want your neighbors to hear.”
Neal agreed, but wondered if he should call Moz and let him know what was going on. Burke read his mind.
“You may want to call your lawyer.”
He laughed at that. “Then come on, I’ll call Moz when we get upstairs.” Neal pushed past Burke, startled by the heat the man radiated. A stray and inappropriate thought crossed his mind. Something about being a cat and just basking in that warmth.
His apartment was on the third floor, a tiny efficiency with one redeeming feature – a back wall of windows that faced the Manhattan skyline. This was his favorite time of day – the sun setting behind the spires on a crystal clear autumn night, airplanes dotting the sky like so many stars in motion.
Neal gestured for Burke to take a seat, but the man didn’t, choosing instead to look around, to poke at the detritus of his life. Neal couldn’t help but comment, “Welcome to the typical domicile of a vulgaris Americanorum scelestus.
Burke grinned. “Somehow, I doubt that anything in here is indicative of a common criminal.” He nodded pointedly at the work in progress on the easel, a copy of Degas’ Entrance of the Masked Dancers. “You’re very good.”
Neal stuck his hands in his pants pockets, a little embarrassed. “I can copy anything.”
“That still takes talent. I love art, but I can’t draw worth squat. Even my circles come out looking like demented eggplants.”
He had to chuckle. “You want to know a secret? It’s very hard to draw a good circle freehand, let alone a perfect one.” He picked up a piece of charcoal and a sketchpad, and demonstrated. His effort, while not in the demented eggplant class, was more than a little lopsided. “See?”
“You’re just trying to make me feel better.”
“Maybe.” Neal felt himself reluctantly warming towards Agent Burke. He really didn’t want to like the man, but he couldn’t help but respond to the gentle self-deprecation. Anxious to get back on a more adversarial footing, he changed the subject. “You said you came to apologize, that you didn’t have all the facts.”
“And I also said that I know you were railroaded into a confession.”
Neal rubbed his forehead; the low grade headache he had was getting worse. “And you’re more than five years too late. I took the deal the US Attorney offered, I did my time.”
“You also paid a hefty fine.”
“Well, Adler allegedly walked away with billions.”
“Allegedly?” Burke latched onto that word like a terrier onto a rat. “You don’t think he did it?”
Neal was too tired, and suddenly feeling too sick to argue. “What about innocent until proven guilty? Aren’t you here to get my cooperation so you can have the person you think is Adler arrested?”
Burke didn’t answer; he just stared at Neal, then pushed past him and headed into the small kitchen area. “Do you smell that?”
“Smell what?” Neal sniffed, but he couldn’t smell anything. He’d been congested for a few days, which only made the headache worse.
“Rotten eggs. I think you have a gas leak.” Burke picked up his coat and pulled at Neal. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
“Hold on.” Neal dug in his heels; he didn’t understand what was happening. Peter just pulled him out of the apartment and down the stairs, banging on his neighbors’ doors, shouting at them to get out of the building.
“What’s happening?” He stopped, confused.
“Come on, don’t be an idiot.” Burke pushed him and he stumbled, but suddenly there were other people in the hallway, all equally bewildered.
“Everybody, get outside, now.” The agent’s voice boomed above the babble and they obeyed. Outside, Burke remained in charge, herding everyone to the other side of the street, something about getting to a safe distance.
In the cool air, some of the murkiness lifted and Neal took a deep breath, trying to clear his head a bit more. Burke was on his cell phone and in the distance, he heard sirens. Four fire engines approached, as well as a pair of ambulances.
He felt detached, not quite part of the emergency. It was probably an effect of the gas he inhaled.
“How are you doing?” Burke joined him.
Neal shrugged; it was almost too much effort to answer.
The man peered into his face, but Neal turned away and closed his eyes. It was full dark and the reflection of the lights from the emergency vehicles on Burke’s skin was making his headache even worse. All he wanted to do was go back inside and get into bed.
“Here, over here.” Burke was calling out and an EMT approached. “He needs to be checked out.”
The woman smiled, saying “Let’s take a look” before she flashed a light in his eyes and took his pulse.
Neal answered her questions and tried to remain patient as she kept asking his name, his age, his address over and over.
“Okay – probably could use a few minutes on some oxygen – but otherwise, you’ll be fine.” She pulled him over to the ambulance, wrapped a thermal blanket around him and hooked tubing around his head before inserting a nasal cannula. “Inhale normally, just let the flow do its work.”
The oxygen cut through some of the fog that had wrapped around his brain. He watched as the EMT checked out Agent Burke then give him the all-clear. No, not Agent Burke, but Peter. He deserved a first name after saving his life. It was a pity he was such a dedicated member of the Bureau, more than a pity, really. If Neal hadn’t been so used up, such an empty shell, he might have reconsidered Elizabeth’s offer to set them up. Peter was everything he liked in a man, strong, determined, principled. Neal laughed at that thought – fidelity, bravery, integrity. Everything he once wanted to be.
Neal closed his eyes and tried to stop feeling so sorry for himself.
“Hey, you all right?” His field of vision was filled with the concerned face of Peter Burke.
Neal thought for a moment. “Yeah, I think so.” He rubbed his temples; the headache that had been such a fixture for the past few days was finally dissipating. “Did they say anything about what’s going on?”
“No – and before you ask, I have no idea when you’ll be able to get back into your apartment.”
“Shit.” But it wasn’t all that bad. He had a place to go for the night. Neal reached into his jacket for his phone, but Peter plucked it away. “What?”
“Who are you calling?”
Normally, the dictatorial tone would have sent Neal’s hackles up, but he answered the question. “I was going to call El, see if she could put me up for the night.”
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”
Neal was about to disagree, but remembered the conversation he’d had with Moz at the start of the week. If Moz knew about all those deaths, then the FBI did, too. “Okay.” He reached for the phone, but Peter put it in his pocket.
“Who are you going to call?”
“Ghostbusters?” He must definitely be feeling better, because the snark came without thinking.
Peter grinned. “Seriously, who?”
“Moz – he’s got places – “
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, either.”
Damn, Peter was probably right. In another life, he’d take a room at the Palace, but in another life, he wouldn’t be living in a crappy apartment that had gas leaks. Neal tried to remember if he had enough free on his single, ultra-low limit credit card for a room at one of the cheap, anonymous motels near LaGuardia airport. Maybe Peter could give him a lift.
“You doing okay?” Peter gave him that look again.
Neal pulled out the cannula. The stink from the plastic was making his headache return. He took a deep breath and regretted it, inhaling the diesel fumes from the emergency vehicles was almost as bad. “I think so.”
“Then come on.” Burke tugged at his sleeve.
“You’re taking me to a motel?”
“Nah, someplace better. You’re coming home with me.”
Peter wasn’t sure what he’d expected when he went over to Caffrey’s. Talk, tell him the truth in as much as he was able to, and most importantly, try and establish some level of trust between them. He didn’t expect to be taking Neal Caffrey home with him like some lost puppy. But he didn’t see what choice he had.
He didn’t believe, for a single moment, that the gas leak in Neal’s apartment building was accidental. Thankfully, Caffrey seemed to recognize that possibility, too. Peter could have let him find shelter with Mozzie – the little guy was resourceful and probably could keep Neal reasonably safe – but this was a golden opportunity. One he couldn’t let pass him by.
They were almost to the Triboro – Peter could never think of it as the “RFK Bridge” – before Neal said anything.
“You really can drop me at a motel. I promise not to get in touch with El. Or Moz.”
“Nah – it’s no biggie. Besides, we need to finish our conversation.”
“Yeah, that’s true. You were apologizing.”
Stopped at a traffic light, Peter looked over at his passenger. Even though he was holding up his end of the conversation, Neal had his eyes closed. In the flickering light of the passing vehicles, he looked like some wonderful, terrible angel come to rest.
“I was, and I will.”
“Tell me, will you be apologizing on behalf of your employer, or is this a more personal thing?” Neal still didn’t open his eyes.
“For the moment, it’s more personal.”
“But if I cooperate, if I give you what you need, will the apology become ‘official’?”
Peter understood just what Caffrey was implying. He answered honestly. “No. Your assistance will not result in anything other than the gratitude of the FBI in helping to close a case.”
“No quid pro quo, then?”
“No.”
“Ah. It would be tricky for you if it did. My veracity would then be called into question if I benefited, somehow.”
Peter wasn’t surprised that Neal made the connection so quickly. Although a perfect GPA at Harvard and an MBA from LSE were indicative of a high degree of intellectual intelligence, it didn’t necessarily guarantee ‘smart’. And if there was one quality he liked in a person, that was it.
For a Thursday evening, the traffic into Manhattan was surprisingly heavy. A truck in the right lane cut him off and Peter hit the brakes, cursing.
“Hey, slow down. No need to impress me with your Formula 1 skills.” Neal finally sat up and took notice of the surroundings. “Where are we?”
Peter passed through the E-Z Pass booth and turned north, onto the FDR. “Heading uptown. I live in Riverside.”
“Hmm, I would have taken you more as a Tudor City kind of guy.”
“I’m an FBI agent, not a Wall Street tycoon. Tudor City’s a little out of my price range.”
“Tudor City’s not that outrageous.”
“Maybe if all you want is a studio or an efficiency. For half the money I’d pay for a shoebox downtown, I have a two-bedroom, two-bathroom apartment with a full kitchen. And a view of the bridge.”
Neal didn’t answer, and Peter snuck another look. The man was looking out the passenger window, apparently absorbed by the passing traffic. There was something about Neal Caffrey that sent messages to his gut. Not the warning kind, but he felt like he was missing something, something that should have been obvious.
Maybe if he just tried talking to him, he’d find some of those missing pieces. “You like working for Elizabeth?”
“Yeah.”
That’s it? “Known her long?”
“A while.”
Peter ground his teeth in frustration. Getting information out of Caffrey was like pulling a hen’s teeth. “I guess I’m kind of surprised you’re satisfied with being just a bookkeeper.”
“What? No threats about sending me back to prison if there’s so much as a penny’s discrepancy in the accounts?”
Peter wasn’t surprised at the bitterness, remembering their less-than-auspicious introduction last week. “No, and I know you’re not a criminal. I figured you would have tried to get back into the game.”
“Game?”
“You know, wheeling and dealing. You were quite the star in the M&A firmament.”
“That was before …” Neal stopped, as if he couldn’t say the name.
“Still, you must have had connections. Someone would have been interested in taking you on.”
“I pled guilty, Peter. My friends were mildly sympathetic, but mostly relieved that they weren’t in my position. No one was going to hire me, not while I was still reeking of prison and such a close connection to – “ Neal paused and swallowed, but this time he got the name out. “Vincent Adler.”
Peter wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t belabor the subject. “So – you and Elizabeth?”
“Me and Elizabeth, what?”
He sighed, trying not to be such a bull in a china shop. “Are you – ?”
“Are we, what?”
Now Peter had a feeling Neal was being deliberately obtuse. “Are you two seeing each other?”
“We see each other every day, pretty much – unless El has an appointment that keeps her out of the office.”
“That’s not what I mean. Are you dating?”
“Dating?”
“Yeah, dating? Romantically involved?”
“Is that really any of your business?” Peter couldn’t identify the odd emotion in that question.
“Look, I’m not asking for your intentions, it’s just that El is important to me and I don’t want to see her hurt.”
“El’s important to me, too.”
“So you are dating.”
“Well, actually – that would be kind of awkward.” Neal chuckled, but it wasn’t a mean sound.
Peter wasn’t sure what was so funny, but he plowed ahead. “Why? Because you work for her?”
“No, because she’s been trying to fix me up with you for the last few months.”
Peter hit the brakes, hard. “Damn it.”
“Everything all right?” Neal’s tone was positively angelic.
“I should have seen that coming a mile out. But no… I just stepped right into it.”
“What’s the matter? What should you have seen?”
“I have a ninety-three percent conviction rating. That’s one of the highest in the Bureau. You know why?”
“No, I don’t.”
Peter didn’t blame Neal for sounding puzzled. “My gut. I have learned to trust my instincts. They are pretty damn good.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“They are one dimensional, though. They only seem to function when it comes to criminal matters. I knew that my neighbor – who I’d met once – was dealing drugs. I knew you weren’t a criminal as soon as we finished talking last week. But when it comes to anything else, those damn instincts are practically nonexistent.”
“Ah, you’re saying that you don’t have a functioning gaydar.”
“Looks that way.”
“Well, many men in your position don’t.”
“My position?” Peter was confused by Neal’s cryptic reply.
“Yeah – in the closet.”
Peter took a deep breath, tapped on the brakes and coasted to a stop at the light. He took another deep breath, to avoid the inevitable explosion of temper. “Why do you think I’m in the closet?”
“Well, doesn’t the FBI have a policy?”
“You mean ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’?”
“Yeah – that’s it.”
“That was the military. You probably missed it, being incarcerated, but that policy was repealed about two years ago. The FBI doesn’t have a policy – or if it does, it’s ‘don’t ask, don’t care’. I’m not in the closet, I never was.”
“But you were married.”
“I was. So, Elizabeth never told you why we were married?”
“No, and I didn’t want to pry.”
“Ah, well – it’s not my story to tell, but rest assured, it had nothing to do with me needing a beard.”
Neal lapsed into silence and Peter decided to let the conversation drop. It had started to drizzle, so it was probably best that he stayed focused on the traffic, rather than on awkwardly personal questions. Soon enough, he turned onto Riverside Drive and the traffic gods were smiling as the lights stayed green. Five minutes later, he pulled into a small, residents-only parking lot, surprisingly grateful to be home.
His apartment was on the sixth floor, and as he’d told Neal, it overlooked the river and the George Washington Bridge. He’d bought the place almost immediately after relocating back to New York. El had offered to let him stay at the house in Brooklyn, and he’d taken her up on the offer, but only long enough to realize that he didn’t belong there anymore. Not that they’d argued or rubbed each other wrong. It just felt like he was moving backwards.
“Nice place – I bet the light is spectacular.” Neal headed right to the bay windows.
“It is. One of the reasons why I took this place.”
Neal stayed plastered to the window and Peter kept the lights on low, so he could enjoy the view. He went to the fridge and retrieved two bottles of beer before joining Neal and offering him one. They stood there – and the silence, this time, was companionable.
At least until Neal spoke. “I’m a target, aren’t I?”
“Yeah. I’ve sent in ERT to work with the fire department, and I’m thinking that they won’t find anything that points to a deliberate rupture, but if someone can manage to give a person a cardiac infection, he can make a gas leak seem like an accident. They’ll probably just turn up a worn fitting, something to blame on age and bad maintenance. You would have either been killed in an explosion or died from inhalation.”
Neal didn’t say anything and Peter could feel the tension radiating off him. “Moz told me to set up a failsafe. He thought I was in danger, too.”
“Failsafe?”
Neal didn’t answer right away and Peter wondered if this was heading into dangerous territory.
“He wanted me to make a sketch of Adler and give it to him. Moz said he’d put out word that if anything happened to me, the sketch would go to Interpol.”
Peter’s appreciation for the quirky little guy went up about a dozen notches. “Did you?”
“No.”
This was one of the moments when Peter knew he needed to listen to his gut, which was telling him to back off. He finished the beer and casually asked, “How does pizza for dinner sound?”
Neal gave him a grateful smile. “As long as there are no green peppers, I’m good.”
“No worries, not a fan either.” He walked away from the window, tugging at Neal. “Let me show you the guest room. It doubles as my office and storage space, but there’s a good bed and nice view from the window, too.”
“Windows are good. Thanks.”
Peter was a little puzzled by that comment until he remembered that Neal spent four years in a small room without any windows.
In truth, he rarely used the second bedroom as an office, preferring to work in the living room or the dining area, and tried to remember when he’d last changed the sheets. Or even if the bed was made.
It was and, thankfully, the room was fairly well organized. He’d forgotten that he’d taken a bunch of boxes down to his storage locker. It wasn’t grand, but it did look more like a guest room than a dumping ground.
The first thing Neal did, not surprisingly, was go to the window and open the shades.
“Okay, so it’s not such a nice view.” Peter didn’t know why he felt the need to apologize for the view of the building’s small courtyard.
“It’s fine. Thank you.”
The moment turned awkward for Peter as he realized that he was alone in a bedroom with Neal Caffrey, a man his ex-wife thought would be a romantic prospect for him. “Um, I’m going to order that pizza – no green peppers, right?”
Neal smiled, and for the first time, Peter got the full effect of that expression.
“Right. Ah – can I have my cell phone back?”
He didn’t exactly want to return it, but couldn’t think of a reason to justify keeping it. He handed it back to Neal.
“I need to call Moz, need to tell him what’s happened.”
Peter nodded. “Yeah – good idea. I’ll give you some privacy. Join me in the living room when you’re done.”
Neal couldn’t reach Moz, and left a brief and semi-cryptic message, instead. “I’m fine, in the Suit’s closet, no moths.” Even if Mozzie didn’t understand, he’d call back anyway, if just to get it deciphered.
He could hear Peter’s half of a conversation, and it didn’t sound like he was talking to the local pizza place. “Be careful, Clinton. We still don’t know what we’re dealing with. I don’t want to add anyone else to the list of bodies.”
There was a pause.
“Caffrey’s safe with me.” And then, No, you don’t have to send the van around, we’ll be fine.”
The van? That puzzled Neal.
“Look, we know the truth about Neal Caffrey, and we’re not the only ones. Can you get in touch with our old friend? We may need ears.”
Neal wondered just who that old friend was and what clandestine service he worked for. Peter ended the call and Neal figured he might as well join Peter in the living room.
“Hey there.”
Peter looked up from a file. “Hey, yourself. Pizza’s ordered. Just checked in with the office – which I presume you heard.”
Neal shook his head. “El said you were a straight shooter.”
A charming flush darkened the other man’s cheeks. “Yeah, well.”
“Are you really sure it’s safe for me to stay here?”
“It should be. Whoever is behind this is subtle, working well below the radar. Other than Kate Moreau’s death, everyone else died in pretty ordinary circumstances.”
“Adam Markham was murdered.”
“A drug buy gone wrong – he was in a bad neighborhood and flashing a lot of cash. Plenty of witnesses but no one saw anything.”
“Yeah – and that makes sense. Adam was a cocaine user and a risk junkie. Surprised he didn’t die in a BASE jumping accident.”
Peter nodded. “Anyway, I can’t see the man behind the curtain making a frontal assault, not on an FBI agent’s home. Too much publicity. You’ll stick with me until we figure this out.”
Neal wasn’t sure he wanted to fall into this plan so easily. “How’s that going to work, Agent Burke? I have a job to do.”
“Well, you’ll have to take time off. El is giving you paid vacation, right?”
Neal sighed, trying not get visibly frustrated. “Yes, and that’s not the problem. I don’t like the idea of being cooped up, locked in a cage. You have to understand that.”
Peter grimaced. “Yeah, I guess I do. But it’s either me or the U.S. Marshals and a safe house, which is even more of a cage. And I can’t guarantee your safety unless I have my eyes on you.”
“You don’t trust the Marshals?” Neal swallowed, the idea of being subject to the whims of the Witness Security program was nauseating.
“It’s not that I don’t trust them, it’s that I don’t trust them.” Peter scrubbed a hand over his face. “Look, I only trust my own team. And there was an incident a few years ago.”
“Incident?”
“Yeah, can’t really go into it, but we had a situation that resulted in a general housecleaning. So let’s just say that I’m not exactly the Marshal Service’s favorite agent.”
“I guess, then, I’m cuffed to your side until this is over.”
“Yeah, I guess you are.” Peter gave him a twisted smile. “And don’t worry, I’ll talk to Elizabeth, I’ll make her understand.”
“Thanks.” There was really nothing more he could say. He wasn’t really worried about losing his job – more that El would make a complete and total mess of the accounting system he’d needed the better part of a year to set up. Maybe he could work remotely.
Peter turned his attention back to his files and folders and Neal took the opportunity to investigate the apartment. It was a lovely example of pre-War architecture with generous proportions in the living space, original art deco details. Despite the fairly ordinary furnishings, it reminded him of something out of an old movie – one of those screwball comedies from the thirties.
A buzzer sounded and Peter got up. “That’s the pizza. Although I doubt the delivery guy is a professional hit man, I’ll go down and get it. Better to be safe than sorry.”
To Neal’s surprise, Peter put back on his shoulder holster and checked his weapon. He didn’t bother with a jacket.
“Wait here. If I don’t come back, call this number.” He handed Neal a piece of paper with a name – Clinton Jones – and a telephone number. “And whatever you do – if you do have to make the call – don’t answer the door until you’re sure it’s the FBI on the other side.”
Despite the deadly seriousness of Peter’s instructions, Neal joked, “Then just come back. I’m hungry.”
Peter gave him a smile and left.
Positive that Peter would be back with the pizza in a few short minutes, Neal found his way to the kitchen. It was definitely pre-War, a narrow galley with smaller versions of modern appliances. It didn’t take much to find plates and silverware. He took out knives and forks but put them back. Peter Burke was not the kind of man who ate pizza with a knife and fork.
Neal couldn’t find napkins, so he grabbed the roll of paper towels and couldn’t help but feel like this was really just a very strange first date.
He’d finished setting the table when he heard a key turn in the lock. “Just me – everything’s fine.” Peter came in, carrying the promised box with a grease-stained paper bag on top. “I got us some zeppolis for dessert.”
“I take it that the delivery guy wasn’t a professional hitter.”
“No, just Aldo, who’s been making deliveries for Uncle Pietro’s for the last fifteen years.”
“Your, er – accessories didn’t freak him out?” Neal pointed with his chin at Peter’s shoulder rig and weapon.
“Nah – Aldo’s eldest is a detective with the Two-Six. He’s accustomed to this.” Peter set the box down, but to Neal’s surprise, didn’t take the holster off. “Thanks for setting the table. Want another beer now?”
“Sure. No problem.”
Peter got a pair of fresh bottles from the kitchen and they sat down to eat. Neal had joked about being hungry, but was kind of shocked to realize just what an appetite he actually had.
They both accounted for two slices and while the contents of that brown bag smelled enticing, he figured he’d wait a little while, let the pizza digest. Peter told him to sit while he cleaned up and Neal just moved into the living room and enjoyed the view. A fog was rolling in, draping the bridge in an orange glow.
Peter swapped his beer for a glass of something – club soda – and sat down across from him.
“You want me sober for a reason?”
“Yeah.” Peter sighed and drained his own glass. “We need to talk, Neal.”
“I guess we do.” He wondered how much pressure Peter was going to put on him to get him to help identify Adler. He was surprised, though, when Peter asked him something completely different.
“Why did you do it?”
“Do what?” Neal wasn’t being deliberately obtuse, he really didn’t know what Peter was asking about.
“Damn it, don’t play word games with me. You know what I’m talking about. Why did you plead guilty?”
Ah. “Are you so sure I wasn’t?” It was second nature to deflect like this.
“Caffrey, I swear… ” Burke’s frustration was palpable.
“Why is it important to you?”
“Because, in my experience – and that experience is considerable – innocent men don’t plead guilty without a good reason.”
“And you’re positive I’m innocent?”
“Yes.”
The simple nature of Peter’s answer gave Neal pause. Whatever his initial motives, Peter now seemed to care about him. It had been a long time since someone believed in him like this. Not that El didn’t count, but she was family.
“It’s simple. I was meant to be someone else.”
“I don’t understand. What does that mean?”
Neal took a deep breath. This wasn’t going to be easy. He’d never told anyone about this, not Elizabeth, not even Vincent. Only one other person knew the truth and she had been in a residential care facility for almost a decade. “When I was three, my father was killed. He was a cop, shot in the line of duty. A hero.”
Peter didn’t say anything. He just let Neal tell the story at his own pace.
“When I was little, I wanted to be a cop, just like him. That was all I could imagine doing. I had this master plan – I’d graduate high school, apply to the police academy, and become the youngest police captain in the history of the city. I’d be a hero like my dad, only better, because I wouldn’t get shot and killed. It was a little boy’s dream.”
“What happened?”
Neal shrugged. “Life, I guess. I found other things that interested me. But when I was in college – “
“You went to Harvard.” During the past few days, Peter had memorized Neal Caffrey’s biography. He knew about his education, but there had been nothing in the record about his father.
“Yeah, Harvard. In my junior year, I had an open elective slot. I’d been on track to go to Business School, but I was also flirting with the idea of practicing law. So, I took a class in criminal justice. It was like a whole new world opened up. The professor was a retired FBI agent, a former assistant director, and she made me dream those old dreams again. But different – instead of the local PD, I’d apply to the FBI and make my mark there.”
Peter vaguely recalled the criminal justice class on Neal’s transcript.
“And did you?”
Neal gave him a look, like he was asking a question that he already knew the answer to.
“Yes. The professor was thrilled with the idea; she thought I’d be a brilliant candidate. She gave me an excellent recommendation, she corralled other retired agents, a member of congress to spend time and interview me so I could have their recommendations, too. Normally the FBI requires a couple of years of post-college experience, but they do make exceptions for qualified Ivy League graduates.”
Peter nodded. “I know that.”
Neal blinked, “You?”
“Harvard, Class of ‘87. Went right into the new agent training program.”
The look Neal gave him was both bitter and envious. “Lucky man.”
Peter brought the conversation back around to Neal’s story. “What happened?”
“Don’t you know?”
“No, I don’t.”
“I would have thought that it was all in my FBI file.”
“Not the one I’ve seen.” Peter was troubled. This information should have been in the file sent over from the Justice Department. “You applied?”
Neal seemed to fold in on himself. “And was rejected.”
Peter wasn’t sure what to say. Neal sounded like he was still heartbroken over the rebuff. “Thousands of qualified candidates apply every year; the Bureau accepts only a small fraction. I know it must seem unfair, after everything – all the encouragement and recommendations.”
“I know. But the professor – the one who’d encouraged me to apply – was shocked that the FBI turned me down. She told me that she’d never seen the Bureau reject an Ivy League applicant with a perfect GPA, plus firearms training, and a Congressional recommendation. She said it didn’t make sense and she’d find out what happened, what I’d need to do to reapply.”
Peter wasn’t sure that that was even possible, but it sounded like Neal’s professor was someone with a lot of juice, so maybe. “Did she get an answer for you?”
“No. And the funny thing was that after a week of waiting, I called her. She didn’t return my call. I kept calling and her secretary told me that she wasn’t taking my calls and to stop trying to contact her. I tracked her down after class and she practically ran from me.”
“That seems bizarre.”
“Yeah, it was. And I got called to the Dean’s office and told that under no uncertain terms was I was to try to talk to the professor or try to see her or otherwise make contact. I had a stellar academic record and wouldn’t it be a shame if I had a black mark on it? The Dean used words like restraining order and stalking and inappropriate student/teacher contact.”
Peter didn’t know what to say to that.
Neal continued the story. “So, I had no choice and I let it go. After all I had obligations.”
That piqued Peter’s curiosity. “Obligations?”
“My mother. She was becoming … unwell. I knew I was going to need to have to take care of her, so I told myself that becoming an FBI agent wasn’t a good idea. A government salary probably wouldn’t stretch too far supporting both of us. So, when Wharton and the London School of Economics came knocking, I jumped at the opportunity.”
“You were top of your class at LSE. I read your Master’s Thesis on competitive market strategies.”
Neal laughed. “After the review committee, you’re probably only the third person to do so.”
“Third?”
Neal’s smile was bitter. “My mother and Vincent Adler were the other two.”
“Ah.”
They lapsed into silence, but Peter was patient. Neal wasn’t a man who’d let the point slip away.
“I suppose you’re wondering at what this has to do with why I pleaded guilty.”
“I figured you’d get around to it.”
“Thanks.”
“For what?” Neal’s gratitude was puzzling.
“Being patient, listening.” He looked at his hands. “I’ve never told this to anyone, not even Elizabeth.”
Peter again wondered at Neal’s connection to his ex-wife, but this wasn’t the time to press for answers.
“So – the end of the story. The reason why Neal Caffrey decided to stop fighting and go to prison.”
“You don’t have to tell me. Not if it hurts too much.”
“No, I should. It’s not like you’re going to use it against me.”
Peter marveled at Neal’s faith in him. It didn’t seem like he’d earned that level of trust. “What happened?”
“You know that the Justice Department had tried to get me to roll on Adler – before Adler disappeared.”
“Yes, that was in the file. You refused to give evidence, even with an offer of immunity.”
“I knew nothing, but more than that, I didn’t believe that Adler was guilty of anything they were accusing him of. I wasn’t part of the trading operation, but I …” Neal shook his head, the memories troubling him. “I trusted Vincent, and I wasn’t going to lie to the government and help them make a nonexistent case against someone who did nothing wrong.”
“Loyalty is important.” Peter tried not to pity Neal.
“And it’s also a two-way street. I was loyal to Vincent; I thought he’d be loyal to me.”
“But he wasn’t.”
Neal shrugged. “Obviously not. And no one else in the organization backed me after Adler took off. They were too busy striking their own deals.”
“You could have fought the charges. The Justice Department had no evidence and you would have walked away clean.”
“I didn’t know that. I thought that maybe the others had pointed the finger at me. For a while, the last few years, Vincent and I were very close. There was some resentment.”
Not for the first time, Peter noticed how Neal’s tone changed when he talked about Adler. It was something to file away, another Neal Caffrey mystery to explore.
“The U.S. Attorney said that the Government had a smoking gun, there was absolute proof of my involvement in three years’ worth of insider trading, stock manipulation, fraudulent asset reporting. You name it, I’d been involved in it. He threatened to have my assets seized under some IRS rules about income and property obtained from criminal enterprises. The IRS apparently doesn’t need a conviction, they can seize anything with minimal evidence.”
Peter was pretty sure that that wasn’t completely true or applicable in this case.
Neal paused and wiped at his mouth. Peter thought he looked like he was becoming ill. He was becoming ill, listening to this miscarriage of justice.
“My attorney – not Moz, you know – he was making noises about negotiating a plea. After all, if the Government took my bank accounts, he wouldn’t get paid. And I had my mother to worry about. She was in residential care already, and needed full-time nursing in a private facility. I had to be able to pay for that.”
“So you took the plea, negotiated with the Justice Department to set up a trust for your mother’s care, and went to jail.”
Neal shook his head. “No – not then. They were putting the screws on me – even threatening me with life, but I was still convinced that it was all a mistake. I was very naive.”
“How did they get you to change your mind, then?” Peter was almost afraid of Neal’s answer.
“They showed me a file. An old file.”
Peter thought back to the documents that he’d gotten from the U.S. Attorney’s office. There was no old file or reference to an old file in the prosecution’s papers. “What was in it?”
“Remember what I told you about my father?”
“Yes – you said he’d died when you were three. He was killed in the line of duty.”
Neal laughed, but it wasn’t a nice sound. “He was killed in a drug bust gone bad. What I didn’t know was that he was the one selling the drugs. He and his partner where working for the Irish mob and were the key players in a heroin distribution ring that stretched from Boston to Miami. The Feds were onto him, but the local precinct – my father’s precinct – didn’t know that the Feds were investigating. They raided the warehouse where a major buy was taking place. My father was killed in the takedown. Killed by his own squad, who covered everything up when they realized what happened.”
Peter just sat there, appalled.
“I grew up believing that my father was a good man, a hero. That he was someone to look up to and that his memory should be honored. He was nothing more than a liar and a drug dealer and a murderer. He’d been suspected in a dozen killings – rival gang members, whole families of the men who’d gotten in his way. He was my father and he was evil. That’s why my application to the FBI was rejected. Just imagine, James Caffrey’s son as an FBI agent? The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, apparently.”
“No – that’s not true. You were a good man, you are a good man. You’re nothing like him.”
Neal didn’t seem to hear him. “I didn’t want to believe it, but it was all there. There was a file three inches thick, detailing dozens of terrible crimes he committed. If the local PD hadn’t jumped the gun twenty-five years before, James Caffrey would have been tried and convicted and spent the rest of his life in prison, instead of becoming a hero.”
There was something about Neal’s story that bothered Peter. Not that he thought Neal was lying. But there were things that didn’t make sense.
“In the end, I just gave up. There seemed no point in fighting anymore. At least my lawyer struck the best possible deal for me. Four years, I could put a couple of million into a trust for my mother, and turn the rest over to the government.”
“Neal – ”
Neal cut him off. “No, don’t. It’s done. I served my time. I got out and was lucky enough to have someone help me get a fresh start. I don’t want to look back anymore.”
“No regrets?”
“Oh, not hardly, but I can’t dine out on regrets.” Neal picked up his glass and finished the club soda, grimacing at the flat staleness.
Peter wanted to make promises. He wanted to exonerate Neal, to get his life back for him, to make the people who deliberately destroyed such a promising future pay for what they did. But Peter knew those promises were dangerous. Almost as dangerous as the sympathy he had for Neal. And still not even half as dangerous as this attraction that felt so damned inevitable.
“I’ll help you.” Neal’s quiet words startled Peter.
“Why? What changed your mind?”
“Adler tried to kill me. And everyone else in my apartment building, too. I can’t ignore that and I can’t keep pretending that Vincent isn’t as evil as my father. If I’m really not my father’s son, I need to do something to prove that.”
Peter was relieved, but worried. He knew that keeping Neal safe was going to be difficult. Safe from Adler, and safe from him, too. But all he said was “Thank you.”
Tags:
- character: clinton jones,
- character: elizabeth burke,
- character: mozzie,
- character: neal caffrey,
- character: peter burke,
- genre: alternative universe,
- genre: angst,
- genre: case fic,
- genre: pre-slash,
- genre: ust,
- pairing: peter/neal,
- type: fan fiction,
- type: longfic,
- white collar,
- written for: fic-can-ukah,
- year: 2013
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2013-12-01 04:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-01 01:31 pm (UTC)Thank you!
Yes, there will be sequels and timestamps. This so easily could have gone 100k, but I have so many other writing commitments. But the El and Peter story is all in my head and may make an appearance for Advent. If my other Elizabeth story and the other story...or the other story done wrestle me into submission.
no subject
Date: 2013-12-01 07:53 pm (UTC)Otherwise, this was a wonderful, compelling story that I really enjoyed, and I hope you decide to expand it some day - with more backstory for Peter and El, with Neal/Peter romance and hopefullly one day with Neal's exoneration.
no subject
Date: 2013-12-01 08:00 pm (UTC)Thank you!
It was definitely a miscarriage of justice, but I will trust Peter to make this right.
And yes, there are many other stories and timestamps in this 'verse.
Thank you again.
no subject
Date: 2013-11-30 09:02 pm (UTC)Been waiting for this one \o/ I love it how it's almost canon and yet so different :D But Peter and Neal find a way to each other in any universe ♥
That is a very interesting setup, innocent Neal convicted and doing time, Adler taking out all of his inner circle, Peter getting a front row seat to how justice can screw people over...
I cannot wait to read more in this verse :D Especially about how they take Adler down... and of course about how the boys fall in love :D Wheeee \o/
Thank you for all these treats ♥
no subject
Date: 2013-12-04 03:02 pm (UTC)I don't know how I got this story bug into my brain, but once it took hold, it wouldn't let go of me.
There is definitely more to come, and maybe even something for Advent (I've finally decided on what to write for that).
no subject
Date: 2013-11-30 09:07 pm (UTC)This is wonderful and tragic and I can see how this WILL go on and on at some point, when you are finished with all of your current massive commitments. You certainly left me very hungry for more.
I thought it was very clever how you ended up bringing Neal and Peter together and very realistic. Despite El's thoughts to the contrary I totally see Peter reacting to Neal the way he did originally and then doing a complete 180 when he learned the truth behind Neal's confession.
no subject
Date: 2013-11-30 10:09 pm (UTC)This is such a brilliant, well-rounded AU, with so many details and different plot lines, I can easily see this becoming a 100K monster! I now understand what you meant when you told me you could write forever in this 'verse. And, damn it, I sure as hell hope that you will!
I cannot begin to tell you how much I love this story, and I sincerely hope that you will decide to come back to this 'verse and continue to explore the guys' budding relationship. We need to find out what is going on with Adler, how the DA ties in with all this, when Peter will learn about Neal and El, why Peter and El got married in the first place, and how the guys finally end up in each other's arms! :)
Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for writing this for me. ILU!!!
no subject
Date: 2013-11-30 11:25 pm (UTC)You never disappoint in a story, I always want to read more.
The previous commenters say much better than I
no subject
Date: 2013-12-01 12:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-01 01:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-01 03:28 am (UTC)I hope we get more to this AU. : )
no subject
Date: 2013-12-01 03:54 am (UTC)I am honored to be your enabler in chief when you give us delights such as this.
The twists and turns of the plot, weaving in canon dialogue like the scene from the car that was in the pilot, the raw emotion from Neal, the slow build of interest/attraction between Peter and Neal, Peter's need to protect those in his circle (of which Neal has become a part) - these are all classic elrhiarhodan elements and you never fail to deliver them in spades.
Thank you for sharing this and I share everyone else's request for MOAR!!!!!! lol
Bravissima
Telling stories
Date: 2013-12-01 04:16 am (UTC)There is something here that you are working on, something that you cannot (and SHOULD not) finish telling until the story ends. I'm really glad that I'm one of the people watching this story--in all its various incarnations--unfold like a ribbon. But although I want to know what happens next...I'm not in any hurry for the story to end.
Lovely, lovely. Thank you for sharing.
Ru
no subject
Date: 2013-12-01 04:44 am (UTC)Please continue this verse. You have us all hooked!
no subject
Date: 2013-12-04 02:59 pm (UTC)Yes, Peter won't rest until he gets justice for Neal. There are definitely a lot more stories in this 'verse.
no subject
Date: 2013-12-01 05:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-04 02:51 pm (UTC)I have to confess, that might be one of my favorite lines from the entire story.
no subject
Date: 2013-12-01 05:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-04 02:48 pm (UTC)Unleash the 100K monster, I beg of you!
Date: 2013-12-01 06:05 am (UTC)“I guess, then, I’m cuffed to your side until this is over.”
Oh yes, yes, please!
There is so much more to do in this verse. So many tantalizing tidbits that you have put out there that must be gotten into further. Please don't leave us dangling too long before you continue.
Re: Unleash the 100K monster, I beg of you!
Date: 2013-12-04 02:45 pm (UTC)I hope to get back to this 'verse sooner than later. Maybe for Advent.
no subject
Date: 2013-12-01 09:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-04 02:44 pm (UTC)Neal is definitely a lot softer, a lot more wounded here - a man who has done nothing wrong, but has paid dearly for his own loyalty.
I'm glad you can see that there is so much more story to tell.
no subject
Date: 2013-12-01 03:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-04 02:43 pm (UTC)As I've said - as others have said - the biggest challenge in writing an AU is keeping the characters "in character" - and I'm delighted that I've said true to the essence of them, particularly Peter.
And yes, there most certainly will be more.
no subject
Date: 2013-12-02 02:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-04 02:42 pm (UTC)No need to grovel, but thank you so much for your willingness to do so!
no subject
Date: 2013-12-02 06:28 am (UTC)And I feel that this is only the beginning!
no subject
Date: 2013-12-04 02:41 pm (UTC)Yes, there will be more.
no subject
Date: 2013-12-02 07:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-04 02:31 pm (UTC)And yes, we're going to see Peter and Neal working together to bring that SOB down!
no subject
Date: 2013-12-02 08:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-04 02:30 pm (UTC)Yes, there will be more - just need to make some room in the writing schedule!
no subject
Date: 2013-12-04 02:22 pm (UTC)The setting is awesome. I'm really amazed how you use the characters from the show - keeping them in character - but creating them in a different setting. I love how you invented Neal's story here. And of course I love Peter and Neal meeting under those tense circumstances and then Peter going to see Neal and then saving his life and taking him in, protecting him. I love the angst here because it's so exciting and you can try to figure out what you have in mind for this story by reading it.
I love those Peter/Neal AU's so much. It's not that I dislike El, on the contrary, she is in the story, but I love her to be Peter's ex (mean me, huh? :D). Well, it's just that I adore Peter/Neal and reading them get together is always so much fun, it's my guilty pleasure.
So, now that I rambled here so much, do I get a sequel soon? *making puppy dog eyes*
I know you have so much to write, and I'm looking forward to anything from you, but I can't wait what will happen here next.
♥♥♥
no subject
Date: 2013-12-04 02:29 pm (UTC)Yes, there will be more - once I can find the time. Still got a bunch more to write before I can pick and choose my projects.
no subject
Date: 2013-12-05 03:02 am (UTC)I love this AU. Especially all the deaths and that Neal was the most squeaky clean of all of them and ended up doing time. The system blew it and that just grates at Peter.
Glad that Peter is there for him and that Neal is going to try to do something.
no subject
Date: 2013-12-08 08:00 pm (UTC)I love how you did a step to the right and conceived this AU. ♥
I'm looking forward to more in this verse.
Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2015-12-09 06:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-10-31 11:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-10-31 11:48 am (UTC)Anyway, I'm so happy when I finnaly found this!