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elrhiarhodanTitle: Some Things Are Better Left Unsaid
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, June Ellington, Peter/Neal
Word Count: ~2000
Spoilers: Most of Season 5
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Beta Credit:embroiderama, pooh_collector
Summary: Peter keeps trying to figure out the puzzle of Neal’s actions since he’s gotten out of jail, but nothing seems to make any sense. At least until Peter remembers something Neal once told him and then the pieces fall into place.
Author’s Note: Written for the sixth night of Fic-Can-Ukah for my friend,anodyneer. Tomorrow is also her birthday, so this is a double present. Her prompt was "What waits at the top of the staircase" and she asked for Peter/Neal. The title is from one of my favorite Annie Lennox songs, “Why”.
__________________
Peter always likes to think of himself as a smart man, quick to connect the dots, to draw conclusions from obscure and disparate pieces of evidence. His closure and conviction rate is very strong evidence of that. It might have taken him three years to catch Caffrey the first time; but it only took six hours the second time.
But lately, he’s been dumb as a post, thick as a telephone book and about as stupid as the average Kardashian. He knows that Neal’s been up to something, but he hasn’t been able to put the pieces together.
Of course, the distance between them – the distance he’s imposed – isn’t helping matters. He wanted perspective, but the perspective he’s gotten is as distorted as a fun house mirror, as clear as the wrong side of a mirror and he’s been as frustrated as hell. And worried. He can’t protect Neal if he doesn’t know what’s going on. The truth of the matter is that no matter how much distance he puts between them, protecting Neal is as important as protecting El.
And this is something he can’t talk through with El. She’s got her own issues, with Neal, with him, with what his promotion was supposed to mean for their lives and what it actually does mean. Her safety has been threatened by his work so many times, he’s just grateful she still loves him and she’s still willing to let Neal be part of their lives, his life.
So he sits with the pieces of the puzzle in front of him, rearranging things, trying to find a pattern, trying to find the outliers, trying to make fucking sense of it all.
Piece One is the two million dollars in stolen gold. He knows Neal was involved with that – it’s as obvious as the sunrise.
Piece Two, that’s the Dutchman’s destroyed evidence. If it wasn’t for Piece Three, David Siegel’s seemingly random murder, that would hurt most of all. His partnership with Neal was forged over those bonds, and he can all but taste Neal’s involvement with their destruction. Not a full day passed from when he mentioned their presence in the evidence lockup until the U.S. Attorney discovered nothing but dust in the box. Dust and a hole that wasn’t there when the box was checked in.
And David Siegel, bright and smart and far tougher than he looks, ends up dead on a street that he had no reason for being on. Peter can’t erase the image of his face, so empty of life, like he can’t erase the feeling that Neal is somehow involved in that murder. And that’s Piece Four, Neal’s silent distress after his happy verbosity. Peter is very careful when he asks Neal what he knows about Siegel’s death, he knows that he's crossing a line that he might never be able to retreat to. But he has to know, and the pain and sadness and anguish that crosses Neal’s face tells him more than he truly wanted to know.
Piece Five is another missing two million. The bills have begun to turn up, in Russia, in China, in Brazil and India. Small amounts spent carelessly. Impossible to tie back to Neal, or hell, even to Mozzie and Peter doesn’t discount the possibility that Moz took the money based on Neal’s information.
Five pieces and none of them easy.
He can’t make sense of them, but he can’t ignore what’s in front of him, either.
Why would Neal do this? Why, after everything, when they are supposed to have faith in each other, when they are so close?
Peter stops and corrects himself. Were so close. There’s distance between them. Distance he put there. Distance he regrets more than he can say.
He scrubs at his face and wishes for all the world that he could just go and talk to Neal, talk like they used to. Hunched over his dining room table, head heavy in his hands, Peter remembers so many conversations, a hundred moments that feel like they happened between other people.
There’s one that stands out, one that he can’t stop thinking about.
And his heart gives a little skip each time he remembers Neal’s answer.
Neal listed a half-dozen other reasons, but that he’d said he’d stayed for him was like a punch in the gut, always. You.
Other memories cascade. Neal turning back, saying his name, just before the plane explodes. Neal, picking up a gun and shooting Keller to save him. Neal running through a parking garage, putting himself in the line of fire, taking a bullet for him. Neal in his arms, warm and safe and happy to be there.
Why would Neal do this? The question is still there, and maybe, at last, he has the answer.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
He’s been here many times before, but it’s been a while since his last visit. Since he came with a heart full of suspicion, a head full of uncertainty and a soul stained by a series of unavoidable mistakes.
June herself lets him in. She’s usually happy to see him, but her mood is unreadable, tonight.
“Neal’s not alone?” He hadn’t thought about the ramifications of visiting at this hour. Moz was probably with him, planning and plotting.
“No, Moz isn’t upstairs.”
There an ambiguity in that answer. If Moz wasn’t upstairs, then was he somewhere else in the house? And why would June automatically assume he was thinking of Mozzie? Unless she was trying to distract him?
Peter has to ask, “A girl?”
Now, June smiles. “No, not tonight.”
“Ah…” Peter’s heart sinks a little and he’s not sure why. Maybe because he still had high hopes for Neal and Sara, even though she was three thousand miles away. Or maybe because …
And he stops that train of thought cold.
They’d ended it a long time ago. Before Cape Verde, before Kramer, even before Keller’s disastrous reentrance into their lives. They ended it on a day filled with accusations and during a long night filled with lies and misdirection and questions never asked. They ended it because it was wrong to begin with and even though his wife gave him a nudge that felt more like a hard shove from a linebacker, he could never get his head around the guilt he felt. Not for an infidelity to his marriage vows, but to the very thing that defined him - his integrity.
Neal never seems to look back; he never seems to regret Peter’s absence in his bed. He never talks about the joy they shared in each other, the consolation he once needed so badly. But then, they’d never used that word, so maybe all the feeling had been on his part and Neal looks at their time together as just scratching an itch.
That’s wrong and he knows that. Neal is a master at deflection, he only lets you see what he wants you to see, especially when he’s hurt and needs to defend himself.
June bids him good evening and Peter goes upstairs, dread and anticipation propel him with each step.
There’s a lock on the door these days. Neal’s arrangement requires him to give his handler a key and Peter wonders if Neal had one made for Siegel because it never occurred to Peter to give his key back. It stays on his key ring, a silent reminder of everything he once had and everything he could have again. Maybe.
Peter knocks. He almost hopes that Neal doesn’t answer. He hopes that maybe he’ll be turned away and come the morning, he and Neal will share a cup of bad office coffee and Neal will make a joke about bad timing and Peter will make a joke about orange jumpsuits and they’ll continue this dance of deflection and deceit until his heart burns out.
But Neal answers the door. Peter enters and prowls around the apartment, everything is as it should be. Neal stands there, arms akimbo, a smile on his lips. It’s that con man’s smile, too broad and too sincere. Peter wants to punch him in the face, he never wants to see that smile again.
He kisses Neal, instead. He backs Neal up against the door and threads his fingers through his hair, pinning him with his hips and kisses him with years of pent up longing. Neal’s kissing him back, he’s fighting for dominance, because that’s always been the way it is between them. Neal Caffrey rolls over for no one, least of all Peter Burke.
Clothes rip and Neal laughs. The sound is so free and joyous that Peter conversely wants to weep. Neal bites his lip and laughs again. He calls him old man and lover and asks what the fuck has taken him so long and they’re naked.
In bed.
Neal pushes him off - just for a second - and dives for the night table drawer. He comes up with lube and condoms and it’s another messy struggle, but anything worth doing is worth doing right and his heart hammers when Neal rolls the condom on and preps himself. Peter closes his eyes, just for a second, because seeing Neal like this, wanton and perfect and giving him everything he’s dreamed of for so long is just this side of too much.
Fucking Neal is like coming home, if your home is a villa on Lake Como, built by some duke or prince for his beloved. There’s a nudge of guilt there, but there’s something else that swamps the guilt, that makes all thoughts of fidelity, bravery and integrity irrelevant.
Peter comes and in a way, his climax is almost an afterthought. They lay there, legs entwined, spent. His heart is still racing and Neal’s is, too. Peter can feel it under his palm, like some wild, panicked bird.
He needs to say something, he can’t rest until he does. “I don’t know what you did, but I know why you did it.”
Neal rubs his cheek against his chest, like a cat marking him. “You aren’t making much sense.”
Peter looks down at Neal and he smiles. “I know that.” He doesn’t say anything else. The knots in him have loosened. He’s solved the puzzle and that’s all that counts. It’s the ‘whys’ that matter, not the ‘wherefores.’
“You aren’t going to tell me?”
“Nah.” He kisses Neal and turns so they’re spooning. “You’ll figure it out, eventually.”
FIN
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, June Ellington, Peter/Neal
Word Count: ~2000
Spoilers: Most of Season 5
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Beta Credit:
embroiderama, pooh_collectorSummary: Peter keeps trying to figure out the puzzle of Neal’s actions since he’s gotten out of jail, but nothing seems to make any sense. At least until Peter remembers something Neal once told him and then the pieces fall into place.
Author’s Note: Written for the sixth night of Fic-Can-Ukah for my friend,
anodyneer. Tomorrow is also her birthday, so this is a double present. Her prompt was "What waits at the top of the staircase" and she asked for Peter/Neal. The title is from one of my favorite Annie Lennox songs, “Why”.Peter always likes to think of himself as a smart man, quick to connect the dots, to draw conclusions from obscure and disparate pieces of evidence. His closure and conviction rate is very strong evidence of that. It might have taken him three years to catch Caffrey the first time; but it only took six hours the second time.
But lately, he’s been dumb as a post, thick as a telephone book and about as stupid as the average Kardashian. He knows that Neal’s been up to something, but he hasn’t been able to put the pieces together.
Of course, the distance between them – the distance he’s imposed – isn’t helping matters. He wanted perspective, but the perspective he’s gotten is as distorted as a fun house mirror, as clear as the wrong side of a mirror and he’s been as frustrated as hell. And worried. He can’t protect Neal if he doesn’t know what’s going on. The truth of the matter is that no matter how much distance he puts between them, protecting Neal is as important as protecting El.
And this is something he can’t talk through with El. She’s got her own issues, with Neal, with him, with what his promotion was supposed to mean for their lives and what it actually does mean. Her safety has been threatened by his work so many times, he’s just grateful she still loves him and she’s still willing to let Neal be part of their lives, his life.
So he sits with the pieces of the puzzle in front of him, rearranging things, trying to find a pattern, trying to find the outliers, trying to make fucking sense of it all.
Piece One is the two million dollars in stolen gold. He knows Neal was involved with that – it’s as obvious as the sunrise.
Piece Two, that’s the Dutchman’s destroyed evidence. If it wasn’t for Piece Three, David Siegel’s seemingly random murder, that would hurt most of all. His partnership with Neal was forged over those bonds, and he can all but taste Neal’s involvement with their destruction. Not a full day passed from when he mentioned their presence in the evidence lockup until the U.S. Attorney discovered nothing but dust in the box. Dust and a hole that wasn’t there when the box was checked in.
And David Siegel, bright and smart and far tougher than he looks, ends up dead on a street that he had no reason for being on. Peter can’t erase the image of his face, so empty of life, like he can’t erase the feeling that Neal is somehow involved in that murder. And that’s Piece Four, Neal’s silent distress after his happy verbosity. Peter is very careful when he asks Neal what he knows about Siegel’s death, he knows that he's crossing a line that he might never be able to retreat to. But he has to know, and the pain and sadness and anguish that crosses Neal’s face tells him more than he truly wanted to know.
Piece Five is another missing two million. The bills have begun to turn up, in Russia, in China, in Brazil and India. Small amounts spent carelessly. Impossible to tie back to Neal, or hell, even to Mozzie and Peter doesn’t discount the possibility that Moz took the money based on Neal’s information.
Five pieces and none of them easy.
He can’t make sense of them, but he can’t ignore what’s in front of him, either.
Why would Neal do this? Why, after everything, when they are supposed to have faith in each other, when they are so close?
Peter stops and corrects himself. Were so close. There’s distance between them. Distance he put there. Distance he regrets more than he can say.
He scrubs at his face and wishes for all the world that he could just go and talk to Neal, talk like they used to. Hunched over his dining room table, head heavy in his hands, Peter remembers so many conversations, a hundred moments that feel like they happened between other people.
There’s one that stands out, one that he can’t stop thinking about.
What were you arguing about?
Mozzie wanted to leave New York. I didn’t.
Why not?
Mozzie wanted to leave New York. I didn’t.
Why not?
And his heart gives a little skip each time he remembers Neal’s answer.
You.
Neal listed a half-dozen other reasons, but that he’d said he’d stayed for him was like a punch in the gut, always. You.
Other memories cascade. Neal turning back, saying his name, just before the plane explodes. Neal, picking up a gun and shooting Keller to save him. Neal running through a parking garage, putting himself in the line of fire, taking a bullet for him. Neal in his arms, warm and safe and happy to be there.
Why would Neal do this? The question is still there, and maybe, at last, he has the answer.
He’s been here many times before, but it’s been a while since his last visit. Since he came with a heart full of suspicion, a head full of uncertainty and a soul stained by a series of unavoidable mistakes.
June herself lets him in. She’s usually happy to see him, but her mood is unreadable, tonight.
“Neal’s not alone?” He hadn’t thought about the ramifications of visiting at this hour. Moz was probably with him, planning and plotting.
“No, Moz isn’t upstairs.”
There an ambiguity in that answer. If Moz wasn’t upstairs, then was he somewhere else in the house? And why would June automatically assume he was thinking of Mozzie? Unless she was trying to distract him?
Peter has to ask, “A girl?”
Now, June smiles. “No, not tonight.”
“Ah…” Peter’s heart sinks a little and he’s not sure why. Maybe because he still had high hopes for Neal and Sara, even though she was three thousand miles away. Or maybe because …
And he stops that train of thought cold.
They’d ended it a long time ago. Before Cape Verde, before Kramer, even before Keller’s disastrous reentrance into their lives. They ended it on a day filled with accusations and during a long night filled with lies and misdirection and questions never asked. They ended it because it was wrong to begin with and even though his wife gave him a nudge that felt more like a hard shove from a linebacker, he could never get his head around the guilt he felt. Not for an infidelity to his marriage vows, but to the very thing that defined him - his integrity.
Neal never seems to look back; he never seems to regret Peter’s absence in his bed. He never talks about the joy they shared in each other, the consolation he once needed so badly. But then, they’d never used that word, so maybe all the feeling had been on his part and Neal looks at their time together as just scratching an itch.
That’s wrong and he knows that. Neal is a master at deflection, he only lets you see what he wants you to see, especially when he’s hurt and needs to defend himself.
June bids him good evening and Peter goes upstairs, dread and anticipation propel him with each step.
There’s a lock on the door these days. Neal’s arrangement requires him to give his handler a key and Peter wonders if Neal had one made for Siegel because it never occurred to Peter to give his key back. It stays on his key ring, a silent reminder of everything he once had and everything he could have again. Maybe.
Peter knocks. He almost hopes that Neal doesn’t answer. He hopes that maybe he’ll be turned away and come the morning, he and Neal will share a cup of bad office coffee and Neal will make a joke about bad timing and Peter will make a joke about orange jumpsuits and they’ll continue this dance of deflection and deceit until his heart burns out.
But Neal answers the door. Peter enters and prowls around the apartment, everything is as it should be. Neal stands there, arms akimbo, a smile on his lips. It’s that con man’s smile, too broad and too sincere. Peter wants to punch him in the face, he never wants to see that smile again.
He kisses Neal, instead. He backs Neal up against the door and threads his fingers through his hair, pinning him with his hips and kisses him with years of pent up longing. Neal’s kissing him back, he’s fighting for dominance, because that’s always been the way it is between them. Neal Caffrey rolls over for no one, least of all Peter Burke.
Clothes rip and Neal laughs. The sound is so free and joyous that Peter conversely wants to weep. Neal bites his lip and laughs again. He calls him old man and lover and asks what the fuck has taken him so long and they’re naked.
In bed.
Neal pushes him off - just for a second - and dives for the night table drawer. He comes up with lube and condoms and it’s another messy struggle, but anything worth doing is worth doing right and his heart hammers when Neal rolls the condom on and preps himself. Peter closes his eyes, just for a second, because seeing Neal like this, wanton and perfect and giving him everything he’s dreamed of for so long is just this side of too much.
Fucking Neal is like coming home, if your home is a villa on Lake Como, built by some duke or prince for his beloved. There’s a nudge of guilt there, but there’s something else that swamps the guilt, that makes all thoughts of fidelity, bravery and integrity irrelevant.
Peter comes and in a way, his climax is almost an afterthought. They lay there, legs entwined, spent. His heart is still racing and Neal’s is, too. Peter can feel it under his palm, like some wild, panicked bird.
He needs to say something, he can’t rest until he does. “I don’t know what you did, but I know why you did it.”
Neal rubs his cheek against his chest, like a cat marking him. “You aren’t making much sense.”
Peter looks down at Neal and he smiles. “I know that.” He doesn’t say anything else. The knots in him have loosened. He’s solved the puzzle and that’s all that counts. It’s the ‘whys’ that matter, not the ‘wherefores.’
“You aren’t going to tell me?”
“Nah.” He kisses Neal and turns so they’re spooning. “You’ll figure it out, eventually.”
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