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elrhiarhodanTitle: Return and Rebuild the Desolate Places – Chapter Three
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, Mozzie, Reese Hughes, Clinton Jones, Diana Berrigan, Olivia Benson (L&O: SVU), Section Chief Bruce (McKinsey) Original Characters
Spoilers: White Collar, all of Season 5; no specific spoilers for L&O: SVU, but set in Season 15
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Kidnapping, torture (off-camera), rape (off-camera),
Word Count: This chapter – ~3000
Beta Credit:coffeethyme4me, miri_thompson, sinfulslasher, theatregirl7299
Story Summary: Six months after Neal disappears, Peter still has no answers and his decision not to go to Washington has had significant repercussions for both his career and his marriage.
Chapter Summary: Peter finds a message, one sent with almost terrible faith.
Previous Chapters: Chapter One | Chapter Two
A/N: Title from Alan Hovhaness’ wind concerto, which takes it from the Old Testament. New chapters will be posted to my LJ every Thursday and to the relevant communities on Fridays.
__________________
Sometime in Late January – Wednesday Afternoon
They made it down to the street before Diana asked. “You saw something, boss?”
“Don’t know. I don’t want to say, not just yet.” There was something there, something he couldn’t put his finger on. It could be his gut or simply wishful thinking.
Di was persistent, though. “You think those are Neal’s work?”
“Damn it, Diana – didn’t I just say that I didn’t want to say?” But there was no real anger in his voice.
“Yeah, sorry about that, boss.”
“No you’re not, but that’s okay.” Peter smiled, taking a small bit of pleasure in the comfortable repartee between them. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if Diana ever left White Collar. She was his rock and sometimes he couldn’t help but feel guilty for leaning on her so much. Not that she minded, but still…
It was close to four when they made it back to the office. He left Diana at her desk. She had her phone out and was talking with Moz, undoubtedly checking up on Theo. Peter couldn’t help but be a little jealous – there was a time, not so long ago, when he’d be making his own four o’clock check-in with Elizabeth. But her busy schedule at the National Gallery didn’t allow too much time for a needy husband.
They’d talk late tonight, sharing the mundane events of the day before going to sleep. It wasn’t like they hadn’t dealt with long separations before. The early years of their marriage had been punctuated by his own travel and as El’s business expanded, she added clients on the west coast that needed her time and personal attention. But this separation felt different, it felt like a portent of things to come. A lifetime of loneliness.
Peter deliberately changed his train of thought. This had been his decision, and he’d have to live with it.
He logged into his email and was pleased that Carlyle had done as promised and forwarded the hi-resolution images. He had seen something, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. His computer monitor was decent, but it didn’t have the resolution of the one in the conference room at the Treasury Department and he couldn’t find what he was looking for. He wondered …
“Andrea?” Peter called in his administrative assistant.
“Agent Burke?” The woman, who’d worked for Hughes back when Peter had just come into White Collar, still refused to use his first name, no matter how many times he insisted. “What can I help you with?”
“I need something printed in very high resolution on transparencies. Do you know if we have equipment that can handle that?”
She thought for a moment. Peter could almost hear a Rolodex flipping through her head. “I think so. I’ll check with IT. I’m pretty sure that they’ve got a photo-quality printer, but I’m not sure if it prints on transparencies. Give me a few minutes and I’ll get back to you.”
Andrea called him back in the promised few minutes with good news. If he would send IT the files, they’d print them out on a high-end nine-color printer, the type used by professional photographers and have them delivered within the hour. Peter debated whether he should transfer the images to a memory card and walk it down to the IT office, but in the end, he just forwarded the email from Rand Carlyle with a note that the prints had to be delivered by the end of the day, no excuses.
Of course, five o’clock came around and there was no sign of those prints. Peter bid Andrea goodnight and headed down to IT to see what the holdup was.
“You didn’t tell us you were trying to print U.S. currency, Agent Burke. Don’t you know that all modern printers are designed to reject currency prints without the proper overrides?” The technician was a stereotypical geek with thick, black rimmed glasses and Doritos dust in his mustache.
“Can you do the override?”
“Does Rudolph have a bright red nose? Of course, but it takes time and finesse. Can you come back tomorrow?” The man sighed in irritation.
“No, I can’t.” In truth, he could but he didn’t want to.
The technician grumbled, punched in a code, then another code. He called a supervisor, who entered a third code and finally the machine started printing. It wasn’t a quick process and each image required the same override. It was close to six before Peter thanked the guy and returned to his office.
He should have been eager to go home and examine the printouts, but now that he had them in hand, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do.
Diana had gone home, but Clinton was still at his desk. Peter toyed with the idea of asking the man if he’d like to go for a drink. He wasn’t one of those bosses who were concerned about fraternizing with the junior staff, not that Clinton was junior staff anymore. The brass had finally approved Peter’s field promotion and he was now officially a Supervisory Special Agent.
Clinton looked up from his monitor and rubbed at his face. “Diana mentioned that you had a meeting with some Secret Service agents.”
“That was remarkably indiscreet of her.”
The other agent wasn’t fazed by Peter’s obvious annoyance. “She said they think that they’ve got a bead on some work by Neal.”
Peter sat down at the empty desk next to Clinton’s, feeling unutterably weary. “It could be – but I’m not sure.”
“Any word from the little guy?”
“No, and you know he’s still Theo’s nanny. Di says he shows up every day without fail.”
Clinton nodded. “Those two wouldn’t stay separated for this long. Moz would have just faded away if Neal told him where he was.”
“Yeah.” The word was a sour taste in Peter’s mouth. He’d never been jealous of Neal and Mozzie’s friendship, at least not until now. He was suddenly eager to get home and look at the printouts. “I’m heading out, once I clear through the paperwork waiting for me.”
Clinton looked at the file folder in Peter’s hands, but didn’t say anything.
Peter headed back up to his office, and despite his best intentions, it was still almost two hours before he was able to shut down and leave. Andrea had left a foot-high stack of forms that had to be reviewed and signed. By the time he was done, even Clinton had left.
Satchmo was gratifyingly eager to see him, and to be let out. Peter set the printouts on the coffee table, but forced himself to have dinner, sort through the mail, and clean up before doing what he was aching to do.
Finally, Peter sat down on the couch, opened the folder and pulled out the transparencies. He looked at them and laughed. It was a bitter, unpleasant sound and Satchmo looked at him with doggy concern. After everything he went through to get these, he couldn’t see a damn thing. He held them up to the light, but that didn’t give him the clarity he needed. Peter sat for a moment, tried to think rationally – to problem solve instead of panic.
He asked himself, what would Neal do? That triggered a flash of inspiration and he went to look for the high powered flashlight they used to keep in the bookcase – except that half of the bookcase was still packed for the move that never happened. But he was lucky and found the flashlight where he’d hoped it would be. He cleared off the glass-topped coffee table and set the light underneath, trying to create a makeshift light box. The light was too focused and Peter ran upstairs and took a plain white bed sheet from the linen closet, hoping it would work as a diffuser.
It wasn’t perfect, but it functioned. The beam was bright enough to illuminate the transparency. He arrayed the three “suspect” ones next to each other and tried to find what had pricked at him that afternoon. It wasn’t anything obvious and Peter gritted his teeth in frustration.
He forced himself to relax, to keep thinking like Neal, which made him laugh. Other than Snider’s insinuations, there was no reason to believe that these were Neal’s work.
But still.
Neal liked puzzles as much as he did and one of the reasons why they had just clicked was that Neal not only could keep up, but he’d leapfrog over him, knowing that Peter wouldn’t have any problems following the directions of his thoughts.
If Neal had signed these, he wouldn’t be so obvious to repeat himself. Hiding “NC” under the seal wasn’t worthy of the Neal Caffrey he knew.
And loved.
Peter sat back. Yes, loved. However one defined it, love was the perfect word for his feelings. With that realization came another and bitterer one. He’d let Neal down. He’d been too intent on protecting himself to see what Neal was going through, to understand the magnitude of his loss. His father, Rachel, him. He’d let Neal down and he was going to do everything he could to make it right. Whatever it took, however long it took. He’d bring Neal home and move heaven and earth to set him free. The irony of that thought didn’t escape him.
He turned his attention back to the transparencies and blinked. There was something there, something in the engraved details in Benjamin Franklin’s collar. The images had been enlarged enough to almost fill the eight by eleven transparency sheet, but Peter still needed a magnifying glass. He was lucky again, the one that Neal had given him a few years ago was still on the fireplace mantel. It had been sort of a joke - that Peter could use it to hunt for clues the next time he’d go missing. Peter had laughed back then, he wanted to cry now.
He examined the three images. On each bill, there were minute differences in the tiny lines that made up a fold in the fabric of Franklin’s neck cloth. On the actually currency, they’d be half or even a quarter of a millimeter long – barely the thickness of a fingernail.
His heart racing, Peter laid one sheet over another, aligning all three images. Those tiny lines – random discrepancies on each note – coalesced into a single coherent line of text.
adiuvare me petrus
help me peter.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
He was supposed to be enjoying his retirement. Play golf, travel the country in an RV, spend some time with the grandchildren.
Reese hated golf – he could play if he had to – but he preferred to spend his time doing anything other than smacking a tiny ball across acres of manicured grass and chasing after it. Except maybe steering a gas guzzling behemoth down the highway and stopping at every tourist trap from New York to Los Angeles.
And you had to have children before you had grandchildren. That was the way it worked. In his book, you needed to have a wife before kids, and while colleagues had said that he was married to the Bureau, it wasn’t a sort of marriage that was particularly fertile.
His days weren’t empty, though. He had connections and friends and stayed in the loop as much as he could. For the past six months, he’d been using every one of those contacts and friends to try and find that son of a bitch, Neal Caffrey.
He’d remained skeptical when Peter insisted that Caffrey hadn’t run, but that skepticism was all for show. If he’d given any visible support to Peter’s contention that Caffrey hadn’t disappeared of his own accord, Peter would have gone AWOL again. And no amount of time in The Cave could rescue his career.
So he’d kept his mouth shut, listened to all the chatter, and come up empty, month after month.
At least until this week. His contacts in the NSA told him that someone was trying to move a considerable amount of currency, about twelve million in fake C-notes. The bills were so good that not even the Secret Service was completely certain that they were counterfeit. Another line of chatter put Peter at the Treasury Department this afternoon. Apparently the Secret Service was trying to make a connection to Caffrey and wanted his old friend’s opinion.
Reese didn’t know what to make of these events. He didn’t see Caffrey as a counterfeiter, not like this. For a man like him, there were easier ways to make a quick couple of million – a forged Degas or Monet and a quick sale to a Chinese collector with more money than sense to check the provenance was more Caffrey’s speed. Counterfeiting on a grand scale like this took a lot more resources than Caffrey could ever muster.
He poured himself a glass of scotch and contemplated the problem, only to be interrupted by the doorbell. Retirement didn’t mean stupidity and old habits were hard to break. He took his sidearm out of the lockbox, checked the safety and went to answer the door.
Peter was on the other side of the peephole. Reese reengaged the gun’s safety and opened the door, inviting Peter in.
Peter gave him a rueful smile. “Sorry to bother you so late. Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“Nothing more than my nightcap. Want one?”
Peter shook his head.
“I’m guessing that this isn’t simply a social call because Elizabeth isn’t home this weekend and you’re lonely?”
That earned him a startled look. “How did you know that?”
Reese smiled. He knew way too much about far too many things, but there was no need to agitate Peter. “A lucky guess – and an easy one, too. You look like shit. And if Elizabeth was home, you wouldn’t be ringing my doorbell at a quarter to ten on a Wednesday night.”
“Yeah, that’s probably a dead giveaway.” Peter rubbed the back of his neck, unhappiness written in every line in his face.
“So, what brings you here?” Reese returned his old SIG Sauer to the gun safe and noticed the odd assortment of things that Peter was carrying – a file, a flashlight and a white bed sheet. “Looking to tell ghost stories?”
That got him a laugh. “No. Or maybe yes.”
“Let me guess – something to do with Caffrey.”
Peter nodded. He looked around the room, eyes settling on a small glass-topped table next to Reese’s favorite chair. “May I?”
“Be my guest.” He waved a hand for Peter to go ahead, watched in fascination as he set the flashlight under the table, draped the sheet over it and opened the file. He carefully set the contents on the table, over the brightest point. Peter pulled out a magnifying glass, looked at his set up, made a few minute adjustments and asked him to come over.
“Tell me what you see.” There was so much hope, so much fear in the man’s voice that Reese was almost afraid to look. He took the magnifying glass from Peter and looked at a carefully stacked set of transparencies – enlargements of 1991 series U.S. Hundred dollar bills.
“Do you see it?”
Reese didn’t know what he was looking for. “My eyes aren’t as young as yours, Peter. Give me a second.”
“Focus on the portrait.” That was the only instruction Peter gave.
He examined it, from the top of the frame around Franklin, down the long hair, but nothing stood out. The process was slow and he could feel the tension radiating from Peter. He bent closer, careful not to disturb the transparencies. There was something there, in the fold of Franklin’s collar, just above the fur. He blinked and looked again. Three tiny words.
He almost dropped the magnifying glass in shock. “What the hell? Peter?”
“You see it?”
“Of course I do!” He put the magnifying glass down, surprised at how badly his hands were shaking.
“He’s out there – someone’s forced him to do this and he’s trying to get word to me.” Peter sounded like he was begging to be believed.
“Of all the Hail Mary plays I’ve ever seen, this one …” His voice trailed off and he was stunned by the magnitude of Caffrey’s skill, the hope he had in Peter, in the Bureau.
“I know, I know. This almost defies logic. If I take it back to Treasury, they aren’t going to believe me. All they’ll hear is that this is Caffrey’s work and the manhunt will escalate.”
Reese nodded, in absolute agreement. “Did Treasury say how long they think these notes have been in circulation?”
“Damn it, I didn’t ask. The agents were more interested in proving they had the biggest dicks in the room. I was pissed off. Off my game.”
“You were never very good with inter-agency politics.”
Peter gave him a wry grin. “Yeah, going to D.C. would have been a disaster.”
Reese retrieved his scotch and swallowed the dregs. He needed the false courage the alcohol gave him for what he had to tell Peter. “I never believed that Caffrey ran. I’ve been looking for him.”
Peter, though, didn’t seem surprised. “And you’ve found nothing.”
“Pretty much, but sometimes ‘nothing’ really isn’t nothing. Some friends let me know that a large quantity of counterfeit hundreds was on the move. It could be tied to this.” He gestured at the transparencies.
“So – do we let it play out?”
“I think we’ll have to.”
Peter looked like he wanted to disagree.
He held up a hand, insisting, “It’s the logical thing to do.” Reese knew that logic had little to do with Peter’s feelings about Neal.
“I can’t wait, Reese. I can’t sit back and wait for someone else to fuck this up. Neal needs me – he’s begging me for help. Me. I’ve let him down enough.”
Reese wasn’t sure what that last bit was about, but he understood Peter’s sense of urgency. If someone had kidnapped Neal and forced him to create these plates, it wasn’t hard to make the leap that they’d dispose of Neal once the job was finished. “Do what you have to do, but remember it’ll be that much harder to protect Neal if you don’t have a badge.”
TO BE CONTINUED
Go To Chapter Four
Author:
elrhiarhodan Fandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke, Mozzie, Reese Hughes, Clinton Jones, Diana Berrigan, Olivia Benson (L&O: SVU), Section Chief Bruce (McKinsey) Original Characters
Spoilers: White Collar, all of Season 5; no specific spoilers for L&O: SVU, but set in Season 15
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Kidnapping, torture (off-camera), rape (off-camera),
Word Count: This chapter – ~3000
Beta Credit:
coffeethyme4me, miri_thompson, sinfulslasher, theatregirl7299 Story Summary: Six months after Neal disappears, Peter still has no answers and his decision not to go to Washington has had significant repercussions for both his career and his marriage.
Chapter Summary: Peter finds a message, one sent with almost terrible faith.
Previous Chapters: Chapter One | Chapter Two
A/N: Title from Alan Hovhaness’ wind concerto, which takes it from the Old Testament. New chapters will be posted to my LJ every Thursday and to the relevant communities on Fridays.
Sometime in Late January – Wednesday Afternoon
They made it down to the street before Diana asked. “You saw something, boss?”
“Don’t know. I don’t want to say, not just yet.” There was something there, something he couldn’t put his finger on. It could be his gut or simply wishful thinking.
Di was persistent, though. “You think those are Neal’s work?”
“Damn it, Diana – didn’t I just say that I didn’t want to say?” But there was no real anger in his voice.
“Yeah, sorry about that, boss.”
“No you’re not, but that’s okay.” Peter smiled, taking a small bit of pleasure in the comfortable repartee between them. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if Diana ever left White Collar. She was his rock and sometimes he couldn’t help but feel guilty for leaning on her so much. Not that she minded, but still…
It was close to four when they made it back to the office. He left Diana at her desk. She had her phone out and was talking with Moz, undoubtedly checking up on Theo. Peter couldn’t help but be a little jealous – there was a time, not so long ago, when he’d be making his own four o’clock check-in with Elizabeth. But her busy schedule at the National Gallery didn’t allow too much time for a needy husband.
They’d talk late tonight, sharing the mundane events of the day before going to sleep. It wasn’t like they hadn’t dealt with long separations before. The early years of their marriage had been punctuated by his own travel and as El’s business expanded, she added clients on the west coast that needed her time and personal attention. But this separation felt different, it felt like a portent of things to come. A lifetime of loneliness.
Peter deliberately changed his train of thought. This had been his decision, and he’d have to live with it.
He logged into his email and was pleased that Carlyle had done as promised and forwarded the hi-resolution images. He had seen something, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. His computer monitor was decent, but it didn’t have the resolution of the one in the conference room at the Treasury Department and he couldn’t find what he was looking for. He wondered …
“Andrea?” Peter called in his administrative assistant.
“Agent Burke?” The woman, who’d worked for Hughes back when Peter had just come into White Collar, still refused to use his first name, no matter how many times he insisted. “What can I help you with?”
“I need something printed in very high resolution on transparencies. Do you know if we have equipment that can handle that?”
She thought for a moment. Peter could almost hear a Rolodex flipping through her head. “I think so. I’ll check with IT. I’m pretty sure that they’ve got a photo-quality printer, but I’m not sure if it prints on transparencies. Give me a few minutes and I’ll get back to you.”
Andrea called him back in the promised few minutes with good news. If he would send IT the files, they’d print them out on a high-end nine-color printer, the type used by professional photographers and have them delivered within the hour. Peter debated whether he should transfer the images to a memory card and walk it down to the IT office, but in the end, he just forwarded the email from Rand Carlyle with a note that the prints had to be delivered by the end of the day, no excuses.
Of course, five o’clock came around and there was no sign of those prints. Peter bid Andrea goodnight and headed down to IT to see what the holdup was.
“You didn’t tell us you were trying to print U.S. currency, Agent Burke. Don’t you know that all modern printers are designed to reject currency prints without the proper overrides?” The technician was a stereotypical geek with thick, black rimmed glasses and Doritos dust in his mustache.
“Can you do the override?”
“Does Rudolph have a bright red nose? Of course, but it takes time and finesse. Can you come back tomorrow?” The man sighed in irritation.
“No, I can’t.” In truth, he could but he didn’t want to.
The technician grumbled, punched in a code, then another code. He called a supervisor, who entered a third code and finally the machine started printing. It wasn’t a quick process and each image required the same override. It was close to six before Peter thanked the guy and returned to his office.
He should have been eager to go home and examine the printouts, but now that he had them in hand, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do.
Diana had gone home, but Clinton was still at his desk. Peter toyed with the idea of asking the man if he’d like to go for a drink. He wasn’t one of those bosses who were concerned about fraternizing with the junior staff, not that Clinton was junior staff anymore. The brass had finally approved Peter’s field promotion and he was now officially a Supervisory Special Agent.
Clinton looked up from his monitor and rubbed at his face. “Diana mentioned that you had a meeting with some Secret Service agents.”
“That was remarkably indiscreet of her.”
The other agent wasn’t fazed by Peter’s obvious annoyance. “She said they think that they’ve got a bead on some work by Neal.”
Peter sat down at the empty desk next to Clinton’s, feeling unutterably weary. “It could be – but I’m not sure.”
“Any word from the little guy?”
“No, and you know he’s still Theo’s nanny. Di says he shows up every day without fail.”
Clinton nodded. “Those two wouldn’t stay separated for this long. Moz would have just faded away if Neal told him where he was.”
“Yeah.” The word was a sour taste in Peter’s mouth. He’d never been jealous of Neal and Mozzie’s friendship, at least not until now. He was suddenly eager to get home and look at the printouts. “I’m heading out, once I clear through the paperwork waiting for me.”
Clinton looked at the file folder in Peter’s hands, but didn’t say anything.
Peter headed back up to his office, and despite his best intentions, it was still almost two hours before he was able to shut down and leave. Andrea had left a foot-high stack of forms that had to be reviewed and signed. By the time he was done, even Clinton had left.
Satchmo was gratifyingly eager to see him, and to be let out. Peter set the printouts on the coffee table, but forced himself to have dinner, sort through the mail, and clean up before doing what he was aching to do.
Finally, Peter sat down on the couch, opened the folder and pulled out the transparencies. He looked at them and laughed. It was a bitter, unpleasant sound and Satchmo looked at him with doggy concern. After everything he went through to get these, he couldn’t see a damn thing. He held them up to the light, but that didn’t give him the clarity he needed. Peter sat for a moment, tried to think rationally – to problem solve instead of panic.
He asked himself, what would Neal do? That triggered a flash of inspiration and he went to look for the high powered flashlight they used to keep in the bookcase – except that half of the bookcase was still packed for the move that never happened. But he was lucky and found the flashlight where he’d hoped it would be. He cleared off the glass-topped coffee table and set the light underneath, trying to create a makeshift light box. The light was too focused and Peter ran upstairs and took a plain white bed sheet from the linen closet, hoping it would work as a diffuser.
It wasn’t perfect, but it functioned. The beam was bright enough to illuminate the transparency. He arrayed the three “suspect” ones next to each other and tried to find what had pricked at him that afternoon. It wasn’t anything obvious and Peter gritted his teeth in frustration.
He forced himself to relax, to keep thinking like Neal, which made him laugh. Other than Snider’s insinuations, there was no reason to believe that these were Neal’s work.
But still.
Neal liked puzzles as much as he did and one of the reasons why they had just clicked was that Neal not only could keep up, but he’d leapfrog over him, knowing that Peter wouldn’t have any problems following the directions of his thoughts.
If Neal had signed these, he wouldn’t be so obvious to repeat himself. Hiding “NC” under the seal wasn’t worthy of the Neal Caffrey he knew.
And loved.
Peter sat back. Yes, loved. However one defined it, love was the perfect word for his feelings. With that realization came another and bitterer one. He’d let Neal down. He’d been too intent on protecting himself to see what Neal was going through, to understand the magnitude of his loss. His father, Rachel, him. He’d let Neal down and he was going to do everything he could to make it right. Whatever it took, however long it took. He’d bring Neal home and move heaven and earth to set him free. The irony of that thought didn’t escape him.
He turned his attention back to the transparencies and blinked. There was something there, something in the engraved details in Benjamin Franklin’s collar. The images had been enlarged enough to almost fill the eight by eleven transparency sheet, but Peter still needed a magnifying glass. He was lucky again, the one that Neal had given him a few years ago was still on the fireplace mantel. It had been sort of a joke - that Peter could use it to hunt for clues the next time he’d go missing. Peter had laughed back then, he wanted to cry now.
He examined the three images. On each bill, there were minute differences in the tiny lines that made up a fold in the fabric of Franklin’s neck cloth. On the actually currency, they’d be half or even a quarter of a millimeter long – barely the thickness of a fingernail.
His heart racing, Peter laid one sheet over another, aligning all three images. Those tiny lines – random discrepancies on each note – coalesced into a single coherent line of text.
help me peter.
He was supposed to be enjoying his retirement. Play golf, travel the country in an RV, spend some time with the grandchildren.
Reese hated golf – he could play if he had to – but he preferred to spend his time doing anything other than smacking a tiny ball across acres of manicured grass and chasing after it. Except maybe steering a gas guzzling behemoth down the highway and stopping at every tourist trap from New York to Los Angeles.
And you had to have children before you had grandchildren. That was the way it worked. In his book, you needed to have a wife before kids, and while colleagues had said that he was married to the Bureau, it wasn’t a sort of marriage that was particularly fertile.
His days weren’t empty, though. He had connections and friends and stayed in the loop as much as he could. For the past six months, he’d been using every one of those contacts and friends to try and find that son of a bitch, Neal Caffrey.
He’d remained skeptical when Peter insisted that Caffrey hadn’t run, but that skepticism was all for show. If he’d given any visible support to Peter’s contention that Caffrey hadn’t disappeared of his own accord, Peter would have gone AWOL again. And no amount of time in The Cave could rescue his career.
So he’d kept his mouth shut, listened to all the chatter, and come up empty, month after month.
At least until this week. His contacts in the NSA told him that someone was trying to move a considerable amount of currency, about twelve million in fake C-notes. The bills were so good that not even the Secret Service was completely certain that they were counterfeit. Another line of chatter put Peter at the Treasury Department this afternoon. Apparently the Secret Service was trying to make a connection to Caffrey and wanted his old friend’s opinion.
Reese didn’t know what to make of these events. He didn’t see Caffrey as a counterfeiter, not like this. For a man like him, there were easier ways to make a quick couple of million – a forged Degas or Monet and a quick sale to a Chinese collector with more money than sense to check the provenance was more Caffrey’s speed. Counterfeiting on a grand scale like this took a lot more resources than Caffrey could ever muster.
He poured himself a glass of scotch and contemplated the problem, only to be interrupted by the doorbell. Retirement didn’t mean stupidity and old habits were hard to break. He took his sidearm out of the lockbox, checked the safety and went to answer the door.
Peter was on the other side of the peephole. Reese reengaged the gun’s safety and opened the door, inviting Peter in.
Peter gave him a rueful smile. “Sorry to bother you so late. Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“Nothing more than my nightcap. Want one?”
Peter shook his head.
“I’m guessing that this isn’t simply a social call because Elizabeth isn’t home this weekend and you’re lonely?”
That earned him a startled look. “How did you know that?”
Reese smiled. He knew way too much about far too many things, but there was no need to agitate Peter. “A lucky guess – and an easy one, too. You look like shit. And if Elizabeth was home, you wouldn’t be ringing my doorbell at a quarter to ten on a Wednesday night.”
“Yeah, that’s probably a dead giveaway.” Peter rubbed the back of his neck, unhappiness written in every line in his face.
“So, what brings you here?” Reese returned his old SIG Sauer to the gun safe and noticed the odd assortment of things that Peter was carrying – a file, a flashlight and a white bed sheet. “Looking to tell ghost stories?”
That got him a laugh. “No. Or maybe yes.”
“Let me guess – something to do with Caffrey.”
Peter nodded. He looked around the room, eyes settling on a small glass-topped table next to Reese’s favorite chair. “May I?”
“Be my guest.” He waved a hand for Peter to go ahead, watched in fascination as he set the flashlight under the table, draped the sheet over it and opened the file. He carefully set the contents on the table, over the brightest point. Peter pulled out a magnifying glass, looked at his set up, made a few minute adjustments and asked him to come over.
“Tell me what you see.” There was so much hope, so much fear in the man’s voice that Reese was almost afraid to look. He took the magnifying glass from Peter and looked at a carefully stacked set of transparencies – enlargements of 1991 series U.S. Hundred dollar bills.
“Do you see it?”
Reese didn’t know what he was looking for. “My eyes aren’t as young as yours, Peter. Give me a second.”
“Focus on the portrait.” That was the only instruction Peter gave.
He examined it, from the top of the frame around Franklin, down the long hair, but nothing stood out. The process was slow and he could feel the tension radiating from Peter. He bent closer, careful not to disturb the transparencies. There was something there, in the fold of Franklin’s collar, just above the fur. He blinked and looked again. Three tiny words.
He almost dropped the magnifying glass in shock. “What the hell? Peter?”
“You see it?”
“Of course I do!” He put the magnifying glass down, surprised at how badly his hands were shaking.
“He’s out there – someone’s forced him to do this and he’s trying to get word to me.” Peter sounded like he was begging to be believed.
“Of all the Hail Mary plays I’ve ever seen, this one …” His voice trailed off and he was stunned by the magnitude of Caffrey’s skill, the hope he had in Peter, in the Bureau.
“I know, I know. This almost defies logic. If I take it back to Treasury, they aren’t going to believe me. All they’ll hear is that this is Caffrey’s work and the manhunt will escalate.”
Reese nodded, in absolute agreement. “Did Treasury say how long they think these notes have been in circulation?”
“Damn it, I didn’t ask. The agents were more interested in proving they had the biggest dicks in the room. I was pissed off. Off my game.”
“You were never very good with inter-agency politics.”
Peter gave him a wry grin. “Yeah, going to D.C. would have been a disaster.”
Reese retrieved his scotch and swallowed the dregs. He needed the false courage the alcohol gave him for what he had to tell Peter. “I never believed that Caffrey ran. I’ve been looking for him.”
Peter, though, didn’t seem surprised. “And you’ve found nothing.”
“Pretty much, but sometimes ‘nothing’ really isn’t nothing. Some friends let me know that a large quantity of counterfeit hundreds was on the move. It could be tied to this.” He gestured at the transparencies.
“So – do we let it play out?”
“I think we’ll have to.”
Peter looked like he wanted to disagree.
He held up a hand, insisting, “It’s the logical thing to do.” Reese knew that logic had little to do with Peter’s feelings about Neal.
“I can’t wait, Reese. I can’t sit back and wait for someone else to fuck this up. Neal needs me – he’s begging me for help. Me. I’ve let him down enough.”
Reese wasn’t sure what that last bit was about, but he understood Peter’s sense of urgency. If someone had kidnapped Neal and forced him to create these plates, it wasn’t hard to make the leap that they’d dispose of Neal once the job was finished. “Do what you have to do, but remember it’ll be that much harder to protect Neal if you don’t have a badge.”
Go To Chapter Four
Tags:
- character: clinton jones,
- character: diana berrigan,
- character: elizabeth burke,
- character: june ellington,
- character: mozzie,
- character: neal caffrey,
- character: ofc,
- character: olivia benson,
- character: omc,
- character: peter burke,
- character: theo berrigan,
- crossover: law and order: svu,
- genre: abuse,
- genre: angst,
- genre: emotional trauma,
- genre: friendship,
- genre: future fic,
- genre: hurt/comfort,
- genre: violence,
- pairing: peter/elizabeth,
- type: fan fiction,
- type: longfic,
- wc verse: return and rebuild,
- white collar,
- year: 2014
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2014-04-17 02:54 pm (UTC)And then Peter went to Hughes who has been looking for Neal already and I just *FLAILS*
I cannot wait for the next chapter. Really, seriously. My heart can't take it.
no subject
Date: 2014-04-17 02:56 pm (UTC)I am delighted that you are enjoying this story and that the journey is a good (and painful) one.
no subject
Date: 2014-04-17 06:05 pm (UTC)Okay, first off, is it sad that I thought this morning 'yay, we get a new part today!' and I specifically went and bought Starbucks, just so I could ignore work, sit and enjoy your fic?
Anyway... loved it. It's great to see how sneaky Neal can be, and that he is trying to reach out to Peter. And of course, Peter found it! Glad Hughes is on their side and tried to help, even if he knew they had to work the system.
I really want the next part now!
no subject
Date: 2014-04-17 06:08 pm (UTC)I'm flailing that you went to 'bucks to get coffee and blow off work to read this chapter.
Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2014-04-17 06:12 pm (UTC)Unfortunately, the comment itself was interrupted about three times. Hence, why I am hesitant to start reading a reverse BB of 40,000 words. But I was seriously needing the ten minutes of fic just to myself. No offense, but I do not like dealing with lawyers. :D
no subject
Date: 2014-04-17 06:14 pm (UTC)And sometimes, I don't like dealing with lawyers either!
no subject
Date: 2014-04-20 05:14 pm (UTC)But I do believe in justice and fairness and so I do it anyways. Although this week I was so close to needing a lawyer of my own as I was about to strangle a biatch of a lawyer....instead I just beat her in court!!!
no subject
Date: 2014-04-17 06:33 pm (UTC)Thursdays are the highlight of my week, and the most heartbreaking, when I'm done with the chapter and have a whole seven days of waiting ahead of me. :(
And, to quote ang, BRILLIANT!!!
More please, please. This is cruel and unusual punishment.
no subject
Date: 2014-04-18 07:39 pm (UTC)Thank you for reading and enduring this journey.
no subject
Date: 2014-04-17 06:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-18 07:40 pm (UTC)I think that no matter what - Neal is always going to reach out to Peter, any way he can.
no subject
Date: 2014-04-17 07:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-18 07:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-17 10:01 pm (UTC)Yay Reese! I'm so glad he's in the story.
Peter's worry about his separation from El makes me sad.
no subject
Date: 2014-04-18 07:42 pm (UTC)I love Reese so much (and I still can't get over James Rebhorn's passing) not to include him in this story.
no subject
Date: 2014-04-18 01:32 am (UTC)I love how you included Reese & that he was also trying to "find that son of a bitch, Neal Caffrey". : )
no subject
Date: 2014-04-18 07:43 pm (UTC)If my calculations are correct, Neal is on camera in the next chapter. Or maybe the chapter after that.
no subject
Date: 2014-04-18 02:45 am (UTC)Loved, loved the interactions with both Diana and Hughes. Their support is crucial.
no subject
Date: 2014-04-18 07:45 pm (UTC)Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2014-04-18 03:49 am (UTC)you're a beautiful and rare jem; your creativity and talent shine like a treasure.
thank you!
no subject
Date: 2014-04-18 07:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-18 04:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-18 07:53 pm (UTC)Thank you so very much.
no subject
Date: 2014-04-18 05:25 pm (UTC)And Reese.....YES. He is very close to my heart.
Fantastique ( as we say in France).
can't wait for next thursday
hugs
no subject
Date: 2014-04-18 07:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-18 07:38 pm (UTC)Also? Hughes!!! :D
no subject
Date: 2014-04-18 07:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-18 07:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-18 07:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-18 07:56 pm (UTC)Have a good and safe journey and an advance welcome back to the Empire State.
no subject
Date: 2014-04-18 11:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-19 02:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-20 11:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-20 05:08 pm (UTC)Wow, this is so good (like I'm surprised that something you wrote is good, LOL) but I absolutely teared up when Reese entered the picture. I was so wishing we would see him again before WC ended and then his portrayer tragically died. But at least in fanfiction he can always be alive and quietly (or not so quietly as the case may be) supporting Peter and Neal.
Can't wait to see what happens next. I didn't like this waiting at first but now I'm kinda getting into the serial approach. I think its like the old serials that they showed on Saturday morning television or in the theaters, it gave you something to look forward to every week.
Also, adore that Diana is doing her thing by being indiscrete and letting Jones in on things and supporting Mozzie by keeping him from doing something stupid by making him responsible for Theo.
Can't wait to see what happens next.
no subject
Date: 2014-04-20 07:24 pm (UTC)But wow, what an amazing chapter! Once again - YAY, Reese, lately whenever he makes an appearance in fic, I can't help thinking that these wonderful stories are like little candles keeping the fire alight for James Rebhorn :)
Also, OMG, that hidden message, it's so brilliant and so Neal and I can't even imagine how desperate he is, how much he needs Peter, awwww.
Wow. Thank you for this, only three chapters so far and it's already epic :D
no subject
Date: 2014-05-03 05:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-05-03 06:16 pm (UTC)