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elrhiarhodanTitle: Fruit of the Poisonous Tree
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, Elizabeth Burke, Peter/Neal
Word Count: ~4000
Spoilers: Most of Season 5, Specifically 5.09, No Good Deed
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Beta Credit:theatregirl7299
Summary: Peter struggles with what Neal has done, with what he has said, and how they can move forward.
Author’s Note: Written as an extra for my Fic-Can-Ukah meme for my very dearest friend,coffeethyme4me, who is feeling a bit under the weather at the moment. Her prompt was This is the moon I was born under, and she asked for Peter/Neal with unapologetic Criminal!Neal and Peter still having sex with him. How perfect is that, given that she gave me the prompt over a month before No Good Deed aired!
The title refers to a legal metaphor: that evidence – no matter how strong – cannot be used if any part of the means to obtain it were illegal in the first place.
Also, a fill for my Hurt/Comfort Bingo Card – the Apocalypse square. Once again, I’m working with a literal translation of the term, which means “revelation.”
__________________
Peter doesn’t know why he thought things would be any different. Neal is a criminal. He’s always been a criminal and he always will be a criminal, and there is nothing he – Peter – can say or do is going to change that.
He can accept it and work within those limitations, or he can reject it and live with the consequences. Peter doesn’t know which choice is worse. One is a compromise that will stain his soul; the other will cost him half his heart.
He closes his eyes and in the stillness of the Brooklyn night he can hear the echoes of that anguished cry – “I did it for you.”
It feels as if anger and disappointment have leeched away all of the fondness he’s had for Neal. The camaraderie is gone, too. Peter realizes with inescapable sadness, that the feeling he once had – that they were like two horses working in tandem or two sides of the same coin – is nothing more than a fantasy. It may have been true at some point, but now it seems like a foolish dream.
But fondness is a tepid emotion. It’s what you feel for a co-worker or a friend, a dog, or a small child doing something cute and clever. It doesn’t compare to the unyielding, unfaltering love he bears, an emotion so strong that no matter what Neal does; nothing short of murder will kill it.
Snippets of conversation cascade through his brain, words he can’t forget. Some his, some Neal’s: “You’re an FBI agent, I’m a con man, there’s only a few ways this could have ended.”
But he couldn’t let it end, because he’d believed that Neal was more than just a con man, and because he loved him. And yet, wasn’t he the one who’d told Neal – months before – and not wholly in jest, that that’s exactly what he was? “You’re a con, that’s all you are and that’s all you’ll ever be.”
Peter can remember all of their moments, the good and the bad, with perfect and cursed clarity. Particularly that first morning: Neal smirking as he walked – no, sauntered – down the grand staircase, did that flip with his hat and all but took a bow.
He’d been impressed, amused, and yes, aroused. The day before, he’d deposited Neal at a skid-row flop house, dressed in a random assortment of old clothes, and found him in a palatial mansion wearing a designer suit that fit like a second skin.
He’d covered his feelings by letting Neal have the sharp edge of his tongue, “I work hard, I do my job well, and I don’t have a ten million dollar view of Manhattan that I share with a twenty-two year-old art student while we sip espresso!”
As annoyed and aroused as he’d been by Neal’s performance, he’d spoken the truth. They’d still been feeling their way around each other, and Neal was testing him when he’d asked him why not? The words of his answer might well have been carved into the bedrock of his soul: “Because I’m not supposed to. The amount of work I do equals certain things in the real world. Not cappuccino in the clouds!”
And now, there is a deep, irreparable fissure in that bedrock. He’d just gotten something for nothing, something he wasn’t supposed to have. Peter had trusted that justice worked, that James had done the right thing. But he hadn’t. It had all been a lie. And everything that had come from that lie is twisted and tainted and wrong.
Fruit of the poisonous tree.
And yet, Peter can’t forget the look of devastation on Neal’s face. First, when he’d told him that he needed perspective, distance, and then – the other morning – when he’d been so cold and angry, when he’d told Neal that he did what he did because he’s a criminal. When he said, “Shame on me for expecting anything else.”
Peter’s stomach knots at the memory of those words. He’s all but told Neal that he’s given up on him. When he said them, he had. At that moment, if he could have washed his hands of Neal Caffrey, he would have.
Now? Now that his anger has burned out, he knows that nothing’s changed. He’ll lie and cheat and skirt the rules as much as he can to keep Neal out of prison and at his side.
He knows he’s stained, tainted by his too-close association with Neal – with a criminal. He’s violated every rule and regulation, he’s stolen and lied and cheated to keep Neal safe and free and by his side.
Then it hits him, like an epiphany, like a revelation.
He’s no different from Neal.
A second epiphany comes hard on the heels of the first – that he still doesn’t have all of the pieces. There’s something else there, something that he’s still not seeing. His gut roils at the idea that there’s more damage to come, that this is like an infection that won’t ever heal.
Peter tilts his head back and finds the summer moon high in the sky. It’s late, but hopefully not too late.
He goes back inside and El doesn’t look up from her laptop. He’s been acting like everything’s normal and ordinary and that life is no different now than it was a few days ago. But he knows she’s angry at him – angry that he’s so willing to absolve her, angry that he’d give up everything to prove that he’s better than everyone else, that he’s as pure and untainted as the driven snow. Angry that he's given up on Neal, who only wanted to help him, who did what he did out of love. “I need to go out.”
She looks at him. “Now? At a quarter past midnight?”
“I need to – “ Peter takes a deep breath. “Talk to Neal.”
His wife gives him a tight, terse nod and her lips twist. “It's about time, but he’s probably not alone.”
“I don’t care if Moz is there.”
She laughs, and it’s an unpleasant sound, because she’s laughing at him. “I didn't mean Mozzie.”
Peter blinks and the sick, sad feeling in his gut just gets worse. “I’ll take my chances.” He grabs his keys and almost drops them like they are white hot. The new car is the most visible evidence of his change in status – it’s something else he has no right to – and he’d give anything to have the Taurus back. A simpler car and simpler times. He forces his fingers around the keys because he has no choice.
“I’ll be back.”
“I’m sure you will.” El manages to convey a wealth of emotion in that single sentence. None of it pleasant. "I've got an early appointment, so I'll see you when you get home tomorrow night."
Peter opens his mouth, there’s an apology forming, but his wife isn’t looking at him, her mulish expression tells him that right now, nothing he can say will change her feelings.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Rebecca’s left. She told him that she couldn’t stay the night and Neal hates himself for breathing the smallest sigh of relief. She’s beautiful and smart and eager and willing, and he can’t help but worry. He thinks back to Kate, who always was a much more reluctant partner in crime. He corrupted her and it cost her everything. Rebecca could easily be another Kate, a victim of his folly and his hubris and his need to prove himself.
The comparisons are too hard to ignore, and not for the first time he takes out the file Mozzie compiled on Rebecca. He takes it out and then puts it away again, unopened and unexamined. If there’s something in there that’s important, that he’s supposed to know, Moz would have seen it, he wouldn’t have hesitated to tell him. Neal knows that his old friend is happiest when it’s just the two of them, their own boys’ club, no girls allowed. Moz only puts up with Rebecca because Rebecca’s useful.
To Neal, she’s perfect and there’s something about that perfection that worries him. It nibbles at the edge of his consciousness, ill-defined and tantalizingly vague.
If he were Peter, he’d say that he’d need to listen to his gut. But he’s not Peter and he’ll never be Peter, despite what he’d once said with such earnest good will, “To Peter Burke, the man we all wish we could be more like.”
The knock on his door distracts him, and whatever nebulous worries he has are like so much dust in the wind. He knows that knock. After three years, he should. It’s firm and decisive and too much like the man behind the door.
It’s late for Peter, though. Gone are the days when he’d just show up to brainstorm the latest case or share a beer and the contents of the fridge because Elizabeth’s got him on a strict diet. Peter’s ASAC now, and despite the few times they’ve gone out into the field together, he doesn’t run cases, he manages the caseload – there’s no reason for him to stop by and brainstorm.
And they’re clearly not friends anymore, so he can’t begin to think that Peter’s stopped by - at a quarter to one in the morning - to snack on his groceries. The only other reasons that Neal can think of are ones that stop his heart and he rushes to open the door.
Peter’s standing there, hand resting on the doorframe, looking tired and weary and old.
“Is everything okay?” The question comes out in a rush of terror. He remembers Hagen walking with June, and his heart stops when he thinks that Elizabeth is in danger.
Peter gives him a curious look. “Everything’s fine. Can I come in?”
Apparently there is nothing to panic over, but Neal wonders if his heart will ever stop racing. He steps back and Peter enters, taking over the space like he always does. He’s a presence almost too big to be contained within the four walls. He watches as Peter stalks around the room - he’s not looking for anything, his eyes are just drifting across the various objects that clutter the space, noting what’s new and what’s different.
The portrait of an FBI agent gathering evidence.
He waits, trying to muster patience, but Peter doesn’t say anything. He just heads out onto the terrace to stand at the balustrade and Neal joins him. They are standing shoulder to shoulder, much as they’ve always done, but Neal feels like there’s an ocean between them now. He can’t bring himself to look at Peter.
Finally, after too many long minutes, Peter speaks. “What I said to you – ”
“That you were shamed by thinking that that I could be anything more than a criminal.”
Peter nods, the motion terse. “Yeah.”
Neal doesn’t know where this is going, if he’s going to get an apology or receive another flaying. He doesn’t think he could survive either.
“I hurt you.”
Neal’s not so quick to absolve him. It’s his turn to nod.
Peter doesn’t say anything else, and Neal finally turns. He’s shocked at what he sees – there are tears running down Peter’s face.
“Peter?”
“I can’t apologize, Neal – I can’t. But …” Peter scrubs at his eyes. “But I have to take responsibility, too.”
“For what?”
“My own complicity in this. In what you did.”
Neal is confused, but he keeps quiet.
“I’ve held myself out as an example, a moral paragon. ‘Do what I do, be what I am.’ ‘Justice, not revenge.’ ‘Do what’s right, let the pieces fall where they may.’” His laugh is bitter. “I have no right to hold you to any sort of standard when I fall far short. I’m no fucking paragon, I’m a damned hypocrite.”
“You’re not making any sense, Peter. You’re not a hypocrite.” Neal decided to stop pulling his punches. “You’re often cruel and thoughtless, you have some serious anger management issues when it comes to us…”
Peter laughs. “I deserve that.”
“And honestly, a lot more.” Neal leans back against the stone – giving vent to his own anger feels damn good. This is perhaps the weirdest – and the most honest – conversation they’ve had in a long time. Maybe forever. “But whatever you are, you’re not a hypocrite.”
“You’re wrong, Neal. I am a hypocrite – of the worst sort.”
Neal shakes his head; he’s still not seeing what Peter so clearly is.
“Remember the Hauser Clinic?”
Neal smiles – those early days were some of the best times of his life with the FBI. Everything was new and fresh and exciting. “Yeah. Getting stoned out of my mind, singing, you rescuing me.” His heart jolts a bit at the next memory. “I told you how much I trusted you.”
“And I stole the security tapes that showed you and Moz lying your way into a medical facility.”
Neal blinks. He’d forgotten about that – he’d have gone back to prison if he’d been caught.
“Then there’s the flight recorder data from Kate’s plane.”
Neal swallows and nods. Peter had talked Sara into withdrawing her criminal complaint, and not just because he was an integral part of the operation to take down a corrupt adoption attorney.
“Let’s not forget what you did at the Russian Museum. It took months to smooth over the damage you caused, not to mention the fact that you nearly murdered Garrett Fowler. You were a felon on work-release in possession of a loaded gun. A stolen gun.”
The rage he’d nursed against Fowler seems so distant now, almost as if he was another person. “I’ve always wondered that if Mozzie hadn’t been shot, would you have tossed me back in prison.”
“You don’t get it, do you? You still don’t see what I’ve done.” Peter’s shouting at him, not in anger but grief.
“Fowler, the Nazi loot, what happened with Kramer – how I engineered everything with Sterling-Bosch for the return of the Raphael. Afterwards – at your commutation hearing – signaling you to run. Going to Cape Verde, bringing you home a free man; all lies in furtherance of a single goal. I haven’t shown you the right way to do anything. All I’ve done is proven that the only way is to lie and misdirect and manipulate the system.”
Neal finally gets it. But he doesn’t agree with Peter’s assessment. “You really think that all of this is your fault? That my failure to reform is because you’ve set a bad example?”
Peter nods, the movement so tight it’s almost imperceptible.
“You really think that if you’d let me go back to prison – if you took me there yourself – it would have changed anything? That when I got out again, I’d walk the straight and narrow?”
Peter stays silent.
Neal doesn’t disguise the derision in his tone. “Let me clue you in, Agent Burke. Prison isn’t about reform. It’s about punishment. It’s about making you pay and pay and pay, even when you’ve got nothing left to pay with. Sending me back would have accomplished nothing.” Neal laughs. “Well, not nothing. You’d still have a spotless record; you’d be able to sleep at night. And if I got out, I’d probably end up back in – for good, forever.”
“Neal – ”
He can see the denial in Peter’s eyes, but he doesn’t stop. This has been building for too long. “This is the moon I was born under, Peter. There’s evil in my veins. You know that now, you’ve seen James kill a man in cold blood. I was born bad, and nothing you can do will keep me from dying bad. You’re never going to change me.”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Peter’s always known how little Neal really thinks of himself, but it’s still like a shiv in the back to hear the words tumble from his mouth.
“You’re not bad, Neal. No – you’re not.”
“But I’m a criminal, Peter. It’s all I’ll ever be.”
He wants to stop his ears against those words, trying to deny the truth. “But you’re still not bad. You’re not evil. You’re a good man, Neal Caffrey. You are – and don’t you dare deny that.”
A small tight smile twists at Neal’s lips. Peter’s seen that expression before and he hates it. “So, what is it, Peter? Love the sinner, hate the sin?”
“I would have been acquitted, Neal. Why couldn’t you have trusted the system to work?”
Neal shakes his head slowly, as if the the trust he had in the system was like that of a child believing in Santa Claus. “Maybe you would have been acquitted, Peter. But you'd have lost everything in the process. They would have stripped you of your badge. You’d never have been able to go back; your career would have been over.”
“I could have lived with that.”
“But I couldn’t. And it has nothing to do with getting sent back to prison.”
“I know that.”
“This was my fault, Peter. It was all my fault – Ellen’s death. James. Your arrest. Everything. If I had just let it all lie, we’d have all been a lot happier.”
Peter can't give up; he can't let Neal shoulder all of the responsibility for this disaster. “I was the one who sent you looking for answers in the first place.”
Neal shrugs. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does.”
They’re at an impasse and the silence stretches impossibly thin. “I know what you’ve lost, Neal. I didn’t realize it until earlier.”
Neal looks at him sideways. “And what is that?”
“Your father.”
Neal abruptly turns away. “He means nothing to me. There was nothing there to lose.”
He takes Neal’s arm and turns him back. “No – don’t. Don’t say that. Whatever James did, before – now, that doesn’t make a difference. He’s your father, and when you created his confession, you burned any bridges that might have existed to bring him back to you.”
Another revelation hits Peter, another punch to the gut. “You sacrificed James for me, and I – I just threw it back in your face. I came here, told you about my promotion, how I’m being groomed for better things. Told you I needed perspective.”
“You also told me I was family.”
“You are.”
“And that’s the heart of the problem, isn’t it? You can’t throw your family in jail?”
“Not the family I love, no. And no matter how many people I recruit to handle you – I’d never let that happen. I’ve loved you from the beginning, and nothing – not time, not distance, not circumstance, is going to change that.” With those words come acceptance. Peter finds the peace that’s eluded him for months.
Neal’s expression crumples and his masks fall away. “Don’t, don’t say that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m only going to destroy you. Destroy you more than I already have.”
Peter thinks about the other secrets that Neal’s keeping. The other shoe waiting to drop. “I don’t care.”
“I’m a criminal, Peter, a dirty criminal whom you’ll never be able to trust. Why do you love me?” The question is anguished.
Peter knows that there’s just one answer. “Because you’re Neal Caffrey, and yes – you’re a con man and a thief. But you are one of the best men I’ve ever known or ever will know. You’ll sacrifice anything, even yourself, to save the people you love. There’s no one I’d trust more to have my back.” This is the one truth that will always bind them together, Neal has to know that.
The expressions flit across Neal’s face, too quickly to read, and Peter’s not sure if Neal believes him. Maybe there’s only one way to prove it. He reaches out and cups Neal’s cheek, brushing his thumb against the other man’s lips. It’s been a while since he’s touched Neal like this. Certainly not since he’d gotten out of prison, because having sex with Neal is not a good way to establish distance.
But it’s never really been about the feral act of copulation, even though there were times when they’d fucked each other raw and bloody. It’s always been about love.
Neal turns his face and brushes a kiss against his palm. His breath is warm, his lips a soft contrast to the scratchiness of his beard. Peter leans in, tips Neal’s head up and kisses him. It’s like coming home after a long and difficult journey
Neal kisses him back with a ferocity that’s been a stranger to their love for years, at least not since Kate had been killed. He’s surprised and aroused by it and lets Neal set the pace. At least until he can’t anymore. They push and pull and bite and lick at each other. Neal’s got his hands under his shirt, and Peter’s clutching at Neal’s back, then gripping his hair. He breaks their kiss and looks at Neal. In the crystalline lights strung across the terrace, he looks fey, otherworldly, and Peter is struck by his need to mark him, to claim him for once and for all.
His mouth roams from Neal's lips to his cheeks, his eyelids, his ears - he's always loved Neal's ears - and then down to the gentle curve of his neck. He feels like an animal as he bares his teeth, skimming across hot skin. He licks, too, tasting salt and sweat, drinking deep before he gently, carefully sets his teeth against the meat of Neal’s shoulder.
Despite his own hard-riding need, he waits for some signal that Neal will be okay with this. It’s been too long, there’s too much between them to take his consent as a given.
And Neal does consent – not in word but in deed. His hips rock against Peter’s, his erection huge and pulsing. Neal’s fingers curl through his hair, holding him tight against his flesh. Peter growls and waits for a heartbeat.
Then he can wait no longer and he bites down hard, marking Neal, claiming him for once and for all. He’s almost savage, but he still retains enough control not to bite deep enough to tear the skin – although he almost longs to taste Neal’s blood.
Neal screams and rocks his hips hard against Peter as the bite – or the pain – triggers his orgasm. Peter pushes Neal back against the stone, holding onto him with his teeth, with his hand, pinning him as he ruts into his own climax.
Peter rests against Neal, feel both their hearts racing, and he never wants to move. Finally, the siren from a passing emergency vehicle shakes Peter from his stupor. “Are you … okay.”
Neal shifts against him and the pressure against his cock is almost too much to bear. Almost. “Yeah, I’m good.”
There’s something in Neal’s voice that makes Peter wonder and he looks at him. But there are too many shadows to read Neal’s expression. Shadows – or maybe masks.
Then Neal smiles, a half-twist of his lips and Peter knows that whatever else is going to come, it’s not going to come between them.
It takes some effort, but they manage to go inside and he pushes Neal towards the bed. The light inside is bright, glaring, but that’s good. They can’t hide in the shadows here. Peter pulls his shirt off. He winces at the sight of the bruise he’s left, but he’s also satisfied.
Neal pushes his hands away as Peter tries to get his pants off. Soon, Neal’s naked and standing in front of the mirror, admiring the bruise. Peter watches as Neal touches it, he hisses as he presses harder and Peter can see his eyes dilate. He swallows as arousal hits him again. Neal laughs; he can see what he’s doing to him. But the sound isn’t mean, it’s one of satisfaction.
Peter strips off his own shirt and as his hands move to his belt, Neal’s eyes widen. “You’re spending the night?”
“Is that a problem?” He stops, wondering if it will be; if being here first thing in the morning is going to fuck up whatever plans Neal has.
But Neal confounds him again. “No, but the sheets aren’t clean.”
It’s his turn to laugh as he finishes getting underdressed. “It’s not the first time, it won’t be the last.”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Neal knows that Peter’s not asleep. He can feel the other man’s eyes on him and wonders what he sees in the darkness.
It doesn’t matter. Whatever happens here isn’t going to change the future.
FIN
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke, Peter/Neal
Word Count: ~4000
Spoilers: Most of Season 5, Specifically 5.09, No Good Deed
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Beta Credit:
theatregirl7299 Summary: Peter struggles with what Neal has done, with what he has said, and how they can move forward.
Author’s Note: Written as an extra for my Fic-Can-Ukah meme for my very dearest friend,
coffeethyme4me, who is feeling a bit under the weather at the moment. Her prompt was This is the moon I was born under, and she asked for Peter/Neal with unapologetic Criminal!Neal and Peter still having sex with him. How perfect is that, given that she gave me the prompt over a month before No Good Deed aired! The title refers to a legal metaphor: that evidence – no matter how strong – cannot be used if any part of the means to obtain it were illegal in the first place.
Also, a fill for my Hurt/Comfort Bingo Card – the Apocalypse square. Once again, I’m working with a literal translation of the term, which means “revelation.”
Peter doesn’t know why he thought things would be any different. Neal is a criminal. He’s always been a criminal and he always will be a criminal, and there is nothing he – Peter – can say or do is going to change that.
He can accept it and work within those limitations, or he can reject it and live with the consequences. Peter doesn’t know which choice is worse. One is a compromise that will stain his soul; the other will cost him half his heart.
He closes his eyes and in the stillness of the Brooklyn night he can hear the echoes of that anguished cry – “I did it for you.”
It feels as if anger and disappointment have leeched away all of the fondness he’s had for Neal. The camaraderie is gone, too. Peter realizes with inescapable sadness, that the feeling he once had – that they were like two horses working in tandem or two sides of the same coin – is nothing more than a fantasy. It may have been true at some point, but now it seems like a foolish dream.
But fondness is a tepid emotion. It’s what you feel for a co-worker or a friend, a dog, or a small child doing something cute and clever. It doesn’t compare to the unyielding, unfaltering love he bears, an emotion so strong that no matter what Neal does; nothing short of murder will kill it.
Snippets of conversation cascade through his brain, words he can’t forget. Some his, some Neal’s: “You’re an FBI agent, I’m a con man, there’s only a few ways this could have ended.”
But he couldn’t let it end, because he’d believed that Neal was more than just a con man, and because he loved him. And yet, wasn’t he the one who’d told Neal – months before – and not wholly in jest, that that’s exactly what he was? “You’re a con, that’s all you are and that’s all you’ll ever be.”
Peter can remember all of their moments, the good and the bad, with perfect and cursed clarity. Particularly that first morning: Neal smirking as he walked – no, sauntered – down the grand staircase, did that flip with his hat and all but took a bow.
He’d been impressed, amused, and yes, aroused. The day before, he’d deposited Neal at a skid-row flop house, dressed in a random assortment of old clothes, and found him in a palatial mansion wearing a designer suit that fit like a second skin.
He’d covered his feelings by letting Neal have the sharp edge of his tongue, “I work hard, I do my job well, and I don’t have a ten million dollar view of Manhattan that I share with a twenty-two year-old art student while we sip espresso!”
As annoyed and aroused as he’d been by Neal’s performance, he’d spoken the truth. They’d still been feeling their way around each other, and Neal was testing him when he’d asked him why not? The words of his answer might well have been carved into the bedrock of his soul: “Because I’m not supposed to. The amount of work I do equals certain things in the real world. Not cappuccino in the clouds!”
And now, there is a deep, irreparable fissure in that bedrock. He’d just gotten something for nothing, something he wasn’t supposed to have. Peter had trusted that justice worked, that James had done the right thing. But he hadn’t. It had all been a lie. And everything that had come from that lie is twisted and tainted and wrong.
Fruit of the poisonous tree.
And yet, Peter can’t forget the look of devastation on Neal’s face. First, when he’d told him that he needed perspective, distance, and then – the other morning – when he’d been so cold and angry, when he’d told Neal that he did what he did because he’s a criminal. When he said, “Shame on me for expecting anything else.”
Peter’s stomach knots at the memory of those words. He’s all but told Neal that he’s given up on him. When he said them, he had. At that moment, if he could have washed his hands of Neal Caffrey, he would have.
Now? Now that his anger has burned out, he knows that nothing’s changed. He’ll lie and cheat and skirt the rules as much as he can to keep Neal out of prison and at his side.
He knows he’s stained, tainted by his too-close association with Neal – with a criminal. He’s violated every rule and regulation, he’s stolen and lied and cheated to keep Neal safe and free and by his side.
Then it hits him, like an epiphany, like a revelation.
He’s no different from Neal.
A second epiphany comes hard on the heels of the first – that he still doesn’t have all of the pieces. There’s something else there, something that he’s still not seeing. His gut roils at the idea that there’s more damage to come, that this is like an infection that won’t ever heal.
Peter tilts his head back and finds the summer moon high in the sky. It’s late, but hopefully not too late.
He goes back inside and El doesn’t look up from her laptop. He’s been acting like everything’s normal and ordinary and that life is no different now than it was a few days ago. But he knows she’s angry at him – angry that he’s so willing to absolve her, angry that he’d give up everything to prove that he’s better than everyone else, that he’s as pure and untainted as the driven snow. Angry that he's given up on Neal, who only wanted to help him, who did what he did out of love. “I need to go out.”
She looks at him. “Now? At a quarter past midnight?”
“I need to – “ Peter takes a deep breath. “Talk to Neal.”
His wife gives him a tight, terse nod and her lips twist. “It's about time, but he’s probably not alone.”
“I don’t care if Moz is there.”
She laughs, and it’s an unpleasant sound, because she’s laughing at him. “I didn't mean Mozzie.”
Peter blinks and the sick, sad feeling in his gut just gets worse. “I’ll take my chances.” He grabs his keys and almost drops them like they are white hot. The new car is the most visible evidence of his change in status – it’s something else he has no right to – and he’d give anything to have the Taurus back. A simpler car and simpler times. He forces his fingers around the keys because he has no choice.
“I’ll be back.”
“I’m sure you will.” El manages to convey a wealth of emotion in that single sentence. None of it pleasant. "I've got an early appointment, so I'll see you when you get home tomorrow night."
Peter opens his mouth, there’s an apology forming, but his wife isn’t looking at him, her mulish expression tells him that right now, nothing he can say will change her feelings.
Rebecca’s left. She told him that she couldn’t stay the night and Neal hates himself for breathing the smallest sigh of relief. She’s beautiful and smart and eager and willing, and he can’t help but worry. He thinks back to Kate, who always was a much more reluctant partner in crime. He corrupted her and it cost her everything. Rebecca could easily be another Kate, a victim of his folly and his hubris and his need to prove himself.
The comparisons are too hard to ignore, and not for the first time he takes out the file Mozzie compiled on Rebecca. He takes it out and then puts it away again, unopened and unexamined. If there’s something in there that’s important, that he’s supposed to know, Moz would have seen it, he wouldn’t have hesitated to tell him. Neal knows that his old friend is happiest when it’s just the two of them, their own boys’ club, no girls allowed. Moz only puts up with Rebecca because Rebecca’s useful.
To Neal, she’s perfect and there’s something about that perfection that worries him. It nibbles at the edge of his consciousness, ill-defined and tantalizingly vague.
If he were Peter, he’d say that he’d need to listen to his gut. But he’s not Peter and he’ll never be Peter, despite what he’d once said with such earnest good will, “To Peter Burke, the man we all wish we could be more like.”
The knock on his door distracts him, and whatever nebulous worries he has are like so much dust in the wind. He knows that knock. After three years, he should. It’s firm and decisive and too much like the man behind the door.
It’s late for Peter, though. Gone are the days when he’d just show up to brainstorm the latest case or share a beer and the contents of the fridge because Elizabeth’s got him on a strict diet. Peter’s ASAC now, and despite the few times they’ve gone out into the field together, he doesn’t run cases, he manages the caseload – there’s no reason for him to stop by and brainstorm.
And they’re clearly not friends anymore, so he can’t begin to think that Peter’s stopped by - at a quarter to one in the morning - to snack on his groceries. The only other reasons that Neal can think of are ones that stop his heart and he rushes to open the door.
Peter’s standing there, hand resting on the doorframe, looking tired and weary and old.
“Is everything okay?” The question comes out in a rush of terror. He remembers Hagen walking with June, and his heart stops when he thinks that Elizabeth is in danger.
Peter gives him a curious look. “Everything’s fine. Can I come in?”
Apparently there is nothing to panic over, but Neal wonders if his heart will ever stop racing. He steps back and Peter enters, taking over the space like he always does. He’s a presence almost too big to be contained within the four walls. He watches as Peter stalks around the room - he’s not looking for anything, his eyes are just drifting across the various objects that clutter the space, noting what’s new and what’s different.
The portrait of an FBI agent gathering evidence.
He waits, trying to muster patience, but Peter doesn’t say anything. He just heads out onto the terrace to stand at the balustrade and Neal joins him. They are standing shoulder to shoulder, much as they’ve always done, but Neal feels like there’s an ocean between them now. He can’t bring himself to look at Peter.
Finally, after too many long minutes, Peter speaks. “What I said to you – ”
“That you were shamed by thinking that that I could be anything more than a criminal.”
Peter nods, the motion terse. “Yeah.”
Neal doesn’t know where this is going, if he’s going to get an apology or receive another flaying. He doesn’t think he could survive either.
“I hurt you.”
Neal’s not so quick to absolve him. It’s his turn to nod.
Peter doesn’t say anything else, and Neal finally turns. He’s shocked at what he sees – there are tears running down Peter’s face.
“Peter?”
“I can’t apologize, Neal – I can’t. But …” Peter scrubs at his eyes. “But I have to take responsibility, too.”
“For what?”
“My own complicity in this. In what you did.”
Neal is confused, but he keeps quiet.
“I’ve held myself out as an example, a moral paragon. ‘Do what I do, be what I am.’ ‘Justice, not revenge.’ ‘Do what’s right, let the pieces fall where they may.’” His laugh is bitter. “I have no right to hold you to any sort of standard when I fall far short. I’m no fucking paragon, I’m a damned hypocrite.”
“You’re not making any sense, Peter. You’re not a hypocrite.” Neal decided to stop pulling his punches. “You’re often cruel and thoughtless, you have some serious anger management issues when it comes to us…”
Peter laughs. “I deserve that.”
“And honestly, a lot more.” Neal leans back against the stone – giving vent to his own anger feels damn good. This is perhaps the weirdest – and the most honest – conversation they’ve had in a long time. Maybe forever. “But whatever you are, you’re not a hypocrite.”
“You’re wrong, Neal. I am a hypocrite – of the worst sort.”
Neal shakes his head; he’s still not seeing what Peter so clearly is.
“Remember the Hauser Clinic?”
Neal smiles – those early days were some of the best times of his life with the FBI. Everything was new and fresh and exciting. “Yeah. Getting stoned out of my mind, singing, you rescuing me.” His heart jolts a bit at the next memory. “I told you how much I trusted you.”
“And I stole the security tapes that showed you and Moz lying your way into a medical facility.”
Neal blinks. He’d forgotten about that – he’d have gone back to prison if he’d been caught.
“Then there’s the flight recorder data from Kate’s plane.”
Neal swallows and nods. Peter had talked Sara into withdrawing her criminal complaint, and not just because he was an integral part of the operation to take down a corrupt adoption attorney.
“Let’s not forget what you did at the Russian Museum. It took months to smooth over the damage you caused, not to mention the fact that you nearly murdered Garrett Fowler. You were a felon on work-release in possession of a loaded gun. A stolen gun.”
The rage he’d nursed against Fowler seems so distant now, almost as if he was another person. “I’ve always wondered that if Mozzie hadn’t been shot, would you have tossed me back in prison.”
“You don’t get it, do you? You still don’t see what I’ve done.” Peter’s shouting at him, not in anger but grief.
“Fowler, the Nazi loot, what happened with Kramer – how I engineered everything with Sterling-Bosch for the return of the Raphael. Afterwards – at your commutation hearing – signaling you to run. Going to Cape Verde, bringing you home a free man; all lies in furtherance of a single goal. I haven’t shown you the right way to do anything. All I’ve done is proven that the only way is to lie and misdirect and manipulate the system.”
Neal finally gets it. But he doesn’t agree with Peter’s assessment. “You really think that all of this is your fault? That my failure to reform is because you’ve set a bad example?”
Peter nods, the movement so tight it’s almost imperceptible.
“You really think that if you’d let me go back to prison – if you took me there yourself – it would have changed anything? That when I got out again, I’d walk the straight and narrow?”
Peter stays silent.
Neal doesn’t disguise the derision in his tone. “Let me clue you in, Agent Burke. Prison isn’t about reform. It’s about punishment. It’s about making you pay and pay and pay, even when you’ve got nothing left to pay with. Sending me back would have accomplished nothing.” Neal laughs. “Well, not nothing. You’d still have a spotless record; you’d be able to sleep at night. And if I got out, I’d probably end up back in – for good, forever.”
“Neal – ”
He can see the denial in Peter’s eyes, but he doesn’t stop. This has been building for too long. “This is the moon I was born under, Peter. There’s evil in my veins. You know that now, you’ve seen James kill a man in cold blood. I was born bad, and nothing you can do will keep me from dying bad. You’re never going to change me.”
Peter’s always known how little Neal really thinks of himself, but it’s still like a shiv in the back to hear the words tumble from his mouth.
“You’re not bad, Neal. No – you’re not.”
“But I’m a criminal, Peter. It’s all I’ll ever be.”
He wants to stop his ears against those words, trying to deny the truth. “But you’re still not bad. You’re not evil. You’re a good man, Neal Caffrey. You are – and don’t you dare deny that.”
A small tight smile twists at Neal’s lips. Peter’s seen that expression before and he hates it. “So, what is it, Peter? Love the sinner, hate the sin?”
“I would have been acquitted, Neal. Why couldn’t you have trusted the system to work?”
Neal shakes his head slowly, as if the the trust he had in the system was like that of a child believing in Santa Claus. “Maybe you would have been acquitted, Peter. But you'd have lost everything in the process. They would have stripped you of your badge. You’d never have been able to go back; your career would have been over.”
“I could have lived with that.”
“But I couldn’t. And it has nothing to do with getting sent back to prison.”
“I know that.”
“This was my fault, Peter. It was all my fault – Ellen’s death. James. Your arrest. Everything. If I had just let it all lie, we’d have all been a lot happier.”
Peter can't give up; he can't let Neal shoulder all of the responsibility for this disaster. “I was the one who sent you looking for answers in the first place.”
Neal shrugs. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does.”
They’re at an impasse and the silence stretches impossibly thin. “I know what you’ve lost, Neal. I didn’t realize it until earlier.”
Neal looks at him sideways. “And what is that?”
“Your father.”
Neal abruptly turns away. “He means nothing to me. There was nothing there to lose.”
He takes Neal’s arm and turns him back. “No – don’t. Don’t say that. Whatever James did, before – now, that doesn’t make a difference. He’s your father, and when you created his confession, you burned any bridges that might have existed to bring him back to you.”
Another revelation hits Peter, another punch to the gut. “You sacrificed James for me, and I – I just threw it back in your face. I came here, told you about my promotion, how I’m being groomed for better things. Told you I needed perspective.”
“You also told me I was family.”
“You are.”
“And that’s the heart of the problem, isn’t it? You can’t throw your family in jail?”
“Not the family I love, no. And no matter how many people I recruit to handle you – I’d never let that happen. I’ve loved you from the beginning, and nothing – not time, not distance, not circumstance, is going to change that.” With those words come acceptance. Peter finds the peace that’s eluded him for months.
Neal’s expression crumples and his masks fall away. “Don’t, don’t say that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m only going to destroy you. Destroy you more than I already have.”
Peter thinks about the other secrets that Neal’s keeping. The other shoe waiting to drop. “I don’t care.”
“I’m a criminal, Peter, a dirty criminal whom you’ll never be able to trust. Why do you love me?” The question is anguished.
Peter knows that there’s just one answer. “Because you’re Neal Caffrey, and yes – you’re a con man and a thief. But you are one of the best men I’ve ever known or ever will know. You’ll sacrifice anything, even yourself, to save the people you love. There’s no one I’d trust more to have my back.” This is the one truth that will always bind them together, Neal has to know that.
The expressions flit across Neal’s face, too quickly to read, and Peter’s not sure if Neal believes him. Maybe there’s only one way to prove it. He reaches out and cups Neal’s cheek, brushing his thumb against the other man’s lips. It’s been a while since he’s touched Neal like this. Certainly not since he’d gotten out of prison, because having sex with Neal is not a good way to establish distance.
But it’s never really been about the feral act of copulation, even though there were times when they’d fucked each other raw and bloody. It’s always been about love.
Neal turns his face and brushes a kiss against his palm. His breath is warm, his lips a soft contrast to the scratchiness of his beard. Peter leans in, tips Neal’s head up and kisses him. It’s like coming home after a long and difficult journey
Neal kisses him back with a ferocity that’s been a stranger to their love for years, at least not since Kate had been killed. He’s surprised and aroused by it and lets Neal set the pace. At least until he can’t anymore. They push and pull and bite and lick at each other. Neal’s got his hands under his shirt, and Peter’s clutching at Neal’s back, then gripping his hair. He breaks their kiss and looks at Neal. In the crystalline lights strung across the terrace, he looks fey, otherworldly, and Peter is struck by his need to mark him, to claim him for once and for all.
His mouth roams from Neal's lips to his cheeks, his eyelids, his ears - he's always loved Neal's ears - and then down to the gentle curve of his neck. He feels like an animal as he bares his teeth, skimming across hot skin. He licks, too, tasting salt and sweat, drinking deep before he gently, carefully sets his teeth against the meat of Neal’s shoulder.
Despite his own hard-riding need, he waits for some signal that Neal will be okay with this. It’s been too long, there’s too much between them to take his consent as a given.
And Neal does consent – not in word but in deed. His hips rock against Peter’s, his erection huge and pulsing. Neal’s fingers curl through his hair, holding him tight against his flesh. Peter growls and waits for a heartbeat.
Then he can wait no longer and he bites down hard, marking Neal, claiming him for once and for all. He’s almost savage, but he still retains enough control not to bite deep enough to tear the skin – although he almost longs to taste Neal’s blood.
Neal screams and rocks his hips hard against Peter as the bite – or the pain – triggers his orgasm. Peter pushes Neal back against the stone, holding onto him with his teeth, with his hand, pinning him as he ruts into his own climax.
Peter rests against Neal, feel both their hearts racing, and he never wants to move. Finally, the siren from a passing emergency vehicle shakes Peter from his stupor. “Are you … okay.”
Neal shifts against him and the pressure against his cock is almost too much to bear. Almost. “Yeah, I’m good.”
There’s something in Neal’s voice that makes Peter wonder and he looks at him. But there are too many shadows to read Neal’s expression. Shadows – or maybe masks.
Then Neal smiles, a half-twist of his lips and Peter knows that whatever else is going to come, it’s not going to come between them.
It takes some effort, but they manage to go inside and he pushes Neal towards the bed. The light inside is bright, glaring, but that’s good. They can’t hide in the shadows here. Peter pulls his shirt off. He winces at the sight of the bruise he’s left, but he’s also satisfied.
Neal pushes his hands away as Peter tries to get his pants off. Soon, Neal’s naked and standing in front of the mirror, admiring the bruise. Peter watches as Neal touches it, he hisses as he presses harder and Peter can see his eyes dilate. He swallows as arousal hits him again. Neal laughs; he can see what he’s doing to him. But the sound isn’t mean, it’s one of satisfaction.
Peter strips off his own shirt and as his hands move to his belt, Neal’s eyes widen. “You’re spending the night?”
“Is that a problem?” He stops, wondering if it will be; if being here first thing in the morning is going to fuck up whatever plans Neal has.
But Neal confounds him again. “No, but the sheets aren’t clean.”
It’s his turn to laugh as he finishes getting underdressed. “It’s not the first time, it won’t be the last.”
Neal knows that Peter’s not asleep. He can feel the other man’s eyes on him and wonders what he sees in the darkness.
It doesn’t matter. Whatever happens here isn’t going to change the future.
Tags:
- character: elizabeth burke,
- character: neal caffrey,
- character: peter burke,
- genre: emotional trauma,
- genre: episode tag,
- genre: friendship,
- genre: hurt/comfort,
- genre: slash,
- kink: biting,
- kink: frotting,
- kink: rough sex,
- pairing: peter/neal,
- type: fan fiction,
- written for: fic-can-ukah,
- year: 2013
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no subject
Date: 2013-12-27 02:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-27 02:12 pm (UTC)Hmmm, I really don't think this was a happy ending - other than in the most metaphorical and massage parlor of senses.
no subject
Date: 2013-12-27 07:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-27 05:49 am (UTC)You found the perfect resolution to what looked like an unresolvable conflict; this is my head-canon now, Too bad the writers won't be able to use your solution! Seriously, this is the only way I can imagine getting them back on the same page and together emotionally again. Brilliant!
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Date: 2013-12-27 02:13 pm (UTC)I do hope (and need) that the next episode will bring some resolution to this unfolding tragedy.
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Date: 2013-12-27 12:22 pm (UTC)Because, I asked myself, what would Peter do if they were in a romantic relationship?
I even had a few ideas to write romantic drama out of this situation but it would never have been as good as your wonderful story. I soooooo want that on the show. They need to talk about everything - and then make love. :D
Thank you for this story, it's exactly how Peter has to remember their good times and come to the conclusion that Neal is worth trying even harder to make him understand that he can be just a man and not a con and criminal. He's already shown that he has a heart and that deep inside he wants to be like Peter, a law abiding citizen catching criminals for the FBI.
I hope that his speech: "Come tomorrow I will be at my desk no matter if the anklet is off or not" will come true on the show. Not so soon of course because I think they would make it the ending of the show.
Thanks for another amazing story!!
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Date: 2013-12-27 02:11 pm (UTC)And thank you so very much for this wonderful feedback. They really do need to talk - that's always been their problem, since the beginning - a failure to effectively communicate.
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Date: 2013-12-27 01:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-27 02:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-27 02:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-27 02:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-27 04:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-27 04:07 pm (UTC)I can't imagine how they are going to pull them back together. But then, I couldn't see how they could bring Neal back from Cape Verde, either. So - I'm going to trust that this will work out.
And if it doesn't, like you say - fanfic will get me through it. Writing and reading.
no subject
Date: 2013-12-27 08:32 pm (UTC)I mean, nevermind the fact that they're not boffing in canon (more's the pity) but Peter's introspection was spot on and SO TRUE. I really hope he'll come to the same conclusions in canon because everything you mention is absolutely true.
Depending on how Jeff screws this up on the show, your fic will be my canon.
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Date: 2014-01-15 05:11 pm (UTC)I hope this doesn't have to become your headcanon...but it's beginning to feel that way.
no subject
Date: 2013-12-27 09:41 pm (UTC)<3
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Date: 2013-12-27 10:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-28 12:13 am (UTC)I love the reveal that Peter hasn't slept with Neal since his 'distance' decision - that makes his whole speech much more cruel.
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Date: 2013-12-28 12:29 am (UTC)Peter isn't clueless and he isn't blameless - but I can't whale on him. Neal has some culpability, too.
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Date: 2013-12-28 01:46 am (UTC)I love that you have them both admitting to faults.
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Date: 2013-12-28 02:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-29 04:04 am (UTC)Peter and Neal are two sides of the same coin.
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Date: 2013-12-29 07:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-29 07:27 pm (UTC)If you can't talk about it, have sex, PLEASE!
Really, why can't Eastin get on board with what we fangirls dream about? You sure seem to have it nailed.
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Date: 2013-12-30 04:16 pm (UTC)And yes - if you can't have a reasonable dialogue like adults, go boink your brains out.
Are you listening, JE?
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Date: 2013-12-30 04:50 pm (UTC)Yup, completely blown by the hotness.
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Date: 2013-12-30 04:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-30 05:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-30 01:27 pm (UTC)Poor boys, such an impossible situation for both of them, and YES, neither one of them is squeaky clean in this, they need to realize that. They need a long talk... and hot sex. They need this fic!
It's about time they start rebuilding their lives. *hugs them both*
no subject
Date: 2013-12-30 04:15 pm (UTC)They need to fix this - preferably with as much hot sex as possible.
no subject
Date: 2013-12-31 07:17 pm (UTC)Also, holy shit, I'm seriously working on a gifset that goes so well with this story. Now I'll probably be crying as I finish it.
Ummm, but yeah. Love love love. Thank you for writing and sharing. <3