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elrhiarhodanTitle: Return and Rebuild the Desolate Places – Chapter Four
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 – ~2200
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: Moz pays a visit to an old friend, Diana gets an early morning visit from Peter, and Olivia pays a visit to the hospital.
Previous Chapters: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three
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 – Thursday Morning
“You’ve heard nothing from Neal?” June asked for the twentieth time.
Moz just shook his head.
“I’ve always known that if Neal had to leave, he’d leave without saying goodbye. But he’d eventually find a way to let me know he was all right.”
“I know. I know.” Mozzie sipped the cup of excellent tea June had poured, but with little enthusiasm.
“He did get in touch with me when the two of you took off to Cape Verde. He sent a postcard.” June drifted over to a small keepsake box on a credenza and opened it. She had a card in her hand, one of Monet’s Haystacks. There was no message – it was the card itself that had been the message. All is well, I’m safe.
“But this time, he’s sent nothing. It’s been six months and nothing.” June put the card back and returned to the couch, looking nothing like her usually vibrant self. “I worry so much.”
Moz had no words of comfort to offer her. He had no comfort for himself.
They sat there, the silence a pressing weight, making it hard to breathe, to think. But he’d come for a purpose. “June – would you mind if I went upstairs for a moment?”
“To Neal’s apartment?”
Moz debated lying, and lying lost. “No, there’s something I need to check in Byron’s study. Something Neal told me about.”
June just raised an elegant eyebrow and stood up. “The flexographic?”
“You know about it?” Mozzie was surprised. June had never hinted that she’d known about the printing plate that her husband had stolen from Ford and secreted away.
“Yes, I always have.” June’s sigh said everything that her words didn’t. “Why do you need to check on it?”
“That, dear lady, is something you’re better off not knowing.”
“Something to do with Neal?”
Moz didn’t answer, hoping his silence would speak for itself.
June got up and gestured for him to lead the way.
Moz had been in Byron’s study a few times over the years, mostly to stare at the credenza with longing. Just knowing that the flexographic was there was enough. He’d dreamed about endless streams of money, the security that it could buy, but now, those dreams seemed sinister, wrong. He had nothing but a terrible feeling in his belly that Neal was somehow involved in the currency Clive was trying to sell.
June went straight to the credenza, reached underneath and activated the mechanism that revealed the hidden compartment.
Moz didn’t know what to feel. The flexographic plate was still there and in the dimly lit room, it glowed like an evil thing.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Olivia didn’t bother leaving a message for Amaro to meet her at Sinai-Roosevelt before heading to the station that morning. She’d tag him if she needed him. And she doubted she’d need him. The stab wound that Donna had told her missed the JD’s lung hadn’t, and the man had been rushed back into surgery. He was intubated and it might be days before he could talk.
But they’d finally gotten around to doing a rape kit. No DNA, but there were clear signs of long term trauma – scarring and tearing and deep bruising, in addition to the whip marks, Taser burns and the massive abrasions around his ankle and throat.
The report also noted that the victim was showing signs of a vitamin D deficiency. He was malnourished and likely had been kept indoors for several months.
This wasn’t anything that Olivia hadn’t seen before. On young girls and women kept as sex slaves, likely smuggled in from Eastern Europe on the promise of a better life. This case was unusual only because the victim was male, in his mid-thirties, and from the look of his dental work, probably American.
The hospital provided a DNA sample, but the results could take weeks. Olivia considered having his fingerprints taken, but this wasn’t technically a crime scene, and identifying a living victim was low on the overtaxed lab’s priority. She’d probably have better luck going through the missing persons reports.
Or having Amaro go through them.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Theo was fretting and a little feverish from the new tooth coming in. He’d cried on and off through the night and nothing seemed to soothe him. Her mother, a wise woman, simply said “Glenfiddich – rub a tiny drop on his gums and take a glass for yourself, you’ll both be happier.”
Diana didn’t want to give her nine month-old son whiskey, but after rocking him for the last eight hours to no avail, she took her mother’s advice – at least with regards to the drop on his gums. She had to go to work today, and the way she felt right now, even half a dram would render her comatose.
Theo grimaced at the taste, but to her relief, he quieted almost immediately.
“There’s my boy, shut your eyes and go to sleep.” Diana hummed a little lullaby as Theo fell asleep. She couldn’t keep a tune if her life depended on it, but her son didn’t care.
She put him in his crib, turned on the baby monitor and waited for Mozzie to arrive. They’d gone through this before and he knew not to ring the bell, to send her a text when he arrived. Which was why she was ready to commit bloody murder when the buzzer rang. Theo started screaming and Diana pulled open the door, about to tear off the little man’s head, only to find Peter there, looking like hell.
Theo’s cries went up another notch in volume and she pulled her boss inside. “Wait here. I need – ”
Peter waved her off, understanding that her son took priority. Despite her aching need to pick her baby up and comfort him, she listened to the advice of her mother, her pediatrician, even Mozzie himself, and just rubbed Theo’s back, stroking him gently until he hiccoughed once, then once more before yawning and falling back to sleep.
Diana was exhausted, but this was the life she’d chosen for herself and as her mother said, she was looking at a lifetime of sleepless nights, so she’d better get used to it. She went to the bathroom, washed her face and went back out to face the world.
Or at least Peter, who was sitting in her living room, still looking like hell.
“What’s the matter, boss?”
All he said was, “I have to talk with Mozzie.”
“Neal?” Diana swallowed, wondering if Peter had gotten the news they’d all been dreading.
“Yeah.”
“Is he – ?” She couldn’t finish the thought.
“No, at least I don’t think so.” Peter lifted up a manila envelope he’d brought with him. “I have a clue, but I need to talk to Moz first.”
“Is this about yesterday? The meeting with the Secret Service?”
He nodded. “I found something – it’s incredible but …” Peter shook his head. “It’s almost unreal. I’ll show you when we get to the office.”
Her phone buzzed with an incoming text and Diana went to the door. It was Mozzie.
“How’s Teddy?”
Diana didn’t bother to correct him about her son’s name. “He’s sleeping, at last.”
“Another tooth?”
She nodded.
“Ah, well. Did you try some whiskey?”
Diana grinned. Her mother and her son’s nanny would get along just fine. Under better circumstances, she’d actually look forward to their meeting. But now, she had other – more urgent issues. “There’s someone here who needs to talk to you.” She headed into the living room, expecting Moz to follow.
Peter stood up, a terrible look in his eyes. “Mozzie.”
The little guy stopped in his tracks and Diana could see all of the joy leech from his face. “Neal?”
“I have a lead ...”
“How solid?”
“Solid enough – but before I tell you anything, there’s something I need to know. Has anyone contacted you about counterfeit hundred dollar bills?”
Moz didn’t answer, but Diana could read the truth on his face. So could Peter.
“Damn it, Mozzie – this is Neal. His life may depend on it.”
Moz stalled. “Someone might have…”
“I don’t have time for your word games. Did anyone reach out to you about a large quantity of Series 1991 hundreds?”
Moz licked his lips, still stalling.
“Please, Moz.” Peter’s desperation was clear.
“Okay, okay – an acquaintance I’ve done business with – may be hooked into a quantity of C-notes. He says that the bills are clean but his seller needs to move them quickly and is willing to take a deep discount. I might have expressed some interest in assisting with the transaction.”
Diana wasn’t sure what to do. Moz had all but admitted to conspiracy to traffic in counterfeit currency, conspiracy to aid and abet in avoidance of currency transaction reporting laws, money laundering, and probably a dozen other felonies. Peter caught her eye and shook his head. That wasn’t the point here.
“Moz – I need to get to the source of that currency.”
“You think Neal’s behind this?”
Peter didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“Why?”
Peter took a deep breath and seemed to debate something within himself. “Some bills have been picked up by the Secret Service...”
She was surprised at how candid Peter was.
“And they think that they are Neal’s work?”
“Yes – but I don’t think he was a willing participant in this.”
Moz blinked. “Why – why do you say that?”
Peter shook his head. “I can’t tell you that. Not yet. You’ll have to trust me.”
Moz paced the length of the room. “But you’re sure?”
“Yes. I’m absolutely sure it’s Neal.”
Moz opened his mouth and shut it; he seemed to be fighting his own internal battles. “I think I can arrange something – I can’t give up my contact, but maybe I can get him to give up his source.”
Diana had to step in. “Mozzie, this is Neal we’re talking about. Your best friend! You’d protect someone who might have a connection to the people who took him?”
“I can’t – I can’t burn him without being sure. You don’t understand!” Mozzie’s voice pitched up in a loud wail. If he had hair, he’d be tearing at it.
Peter intervened. “Diana – it’s okay.” He reached out and put a hand on Moz’s shoulder. “Calm down – let’s figure out how to do this. We’ve done this before, remember?”
Diana wasn’t completely sure what Peter was talking about, but she suspected that it had something to do with U-boat loot, Matthew Keller and Elizabeth Burke’s kidnapping. Peter had deliberately never told her the whole story. But whatever it was, it worked. Mozzie nodded and an understanding passed between the two men.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
There were people around him, unfamiliar sounds and smells. He kept his eyes shut as he tried to figure out where he was.
What was happening to him.
What had happened to him.
His memory was scattered, filled with holes, gaping pits of lost time that he didn’t want to recover.
A hand rubbed his arm, the touch surprisingly gentle. There was a voice and he knew that it belonged to a woman. It had been so long since he’d heard a woman’s voice. That was something he knew.
“Can you open your eyes?”
He didn’t want to.
The hand didn’t stop its gentle stroking. “Please, open your eyes.”
He listened beyond the voice. There were soft pings – machines. And squeaks, less rhythmic and those faded and grew louder. He wondered if those sounds were made by shoes against a smooth floor.
He tried to identify the odors around him. It was hard, there was something in his nose and he opened his mouth to breathe. That hurt. His throat felt like fire. Like something had been shoved down it and pulled out, repeatedly.
He began to panic at that memory, thrashing at the hand on his arm, trying to pull away, to get away.
The machine noises grew louder and there were people shouting. More squeaks, more words and more hands and he struggled but they wouldn’t let him go.
He needed to get free, he needed to escape. He needed to save himself because no one was going to come and save him.
Peter would never find him.
Peter
He stopped struggling. It all felt so hopeless. Peter was gone. The pain of that thought burst through him and he heard himself moan. He sounded like an animal
It was only fitting, since he’d been used like an animal. Set to work and beaten if he didn’t fulfill his tasks. He wasn’t human; he was a thing to be used, to be used up and discarded when all his value was destroyed.
Peter would never do that. Peter might be angry at him, he might even regret their association, he might even turn his back on him and deny that they were ever friends, but Peter would never hurt him like this.
Peter would be so disappointed in him.
The voices and the hands receded. The light behind his eyelids faded and so did the panic. He breathed deep and before he lost consciousness, he remembered his name.
Neal
TO BE CONTINUED
GO TO CHAPTER FIVE
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 – ~2200
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: Moz pays a visit to an old friend, Diana gets an early morning visit from Peter, and Olivia pays a visit to the hospital.
Previous Chapters: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three
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 – Thursday Morning
“You’ve heard nothing from Neal?” June asked for the twentieth time.
Moz just shook his head.
“I’ve always known that if Neal had to leave, he’d leave without saying goodbye. But he’d eventually find a way to let me know he was all right.”
“I know. I know.” Mozzie sipped the cup of excellent tea June had poured, but with little enthusiasm.
“He did get in touch with me when the two of you took off to Cape Verde. He sent a postcard.” June drifted over to a small keepsake box on a credenza and opened it. She had a card in her hand, one of Monet’s Haystacks. There was no message – it was the card itself that had been the message. All is well, I’m safe.
“But this time, he’s sent nothing. It’s been six months and nothing.” June put the card back and returned to the couch, looking nothing like her usually vibrant self. “I worry so much.”
Moz had no words of comfort to offer her. He had no comfort for himself.
They sat there, the silence a pressing weight, making it hard to breathe, to think. But he’d come for a purpose. “June – would you mind if I went upstairs for a moment?”
“To Neal’s apartment?”
Moz debated lying, and lying lost. “No, there’s something I need to check in Byron’s study. Something Neal told me about.”
June just raised an elegant eyebrow and stood up. “The flexographic?”
“You know about it?” Mozzie was surprised. June had never hinted that she’d known about the printing plate that her husband had stolen from Ford and secreted away.
“Yes, I always have.” June’s sigh said everything that her words didn’t. “Why do you need to check on it?”
“That, dear lady, is something you’re better off not knowing.”
“Something to do with Neal?”
Moz didn’t answer, hoping his silence would speak for itself.
June got up and gestured for him to lead the way.
Moz had been in Byron’s study a few times over the years, mostly to stare at the credenza with longing. Just knowing that the flexographic was there was enough. He’d dreamed about endless streams of money, the security that it could buy, but now, those dreams seemed sinister, wrong. He had nothing but a terrible feeling in his belly that Neal was somehow involved in the currency Clive was trying to sell.
June went straight to the credenza, reached underneath and activated the mechanism that revealed the hidden compartment.
Moz didn’t know what to feel. The flexographic plate was still there and in the dimly lit room, it glowed like an evil thing.
Olivia didn’t bother leaving a message for Amaro to meet her at Sinai-Roosevelt before heading to the station that morning. She’d tag him if she needed him. And she doubted she’d need him. The stab wound that Donna had told her missed the JD’s lung hadn’t, and the man had been rushed back into surgery. He was intubated and it might be days before he could talk.
But they’d finally gotten around to doing a rape kit. No DNA, but there were clear signs of long term trauma – scarring and tearing and deep bruising, in addition to the whip marks, Taser burns and the massive abrasions around his ankle and throat.
The report also noted that the victim was showing signs of a vitamin D deficiency. He was malnourished and likely had been kept indoors for several months.
This wasn’t anything that Olivia hadn’t seen before. On young girls and women kept as sex slaves, likely smuggled in from Eastern Europe on the promise of a better life. This case was unusual only because the victim was male, in his mid-thirties, and from the look of his dental work, probably American.
The hospital provided a DNA sample, but the results could take weeks. Olivia considered having his fingerprints taken, but this wasn’t technically a crime scene, and identifying a living victim was low on the overtaxed lab’s priority. She’d probably have better luck going through the missing persons reports.
Or having Amaro go through them.
Theo was fretting and a little feverish from the new tooth coming in. He’d cried on and off through the night and nothing seemed to soothe him. Her mother, a wise woman, simply said “Glenfiddich – rub a tiny drop on his gums and take a glass for yourself, you’ll both be happier.”
Diana didn’t want to give her nine month-old son whiskey, but after rocking him for the last eight hours to no avail, she took her mother’s advice – at least with regards to the drop on his gums. She had to go to work today, and the way she felt right now, even half a dram would render her comatose.
Theo grimaced at the taste, but to her relief, he quieted almost immediately.
“There’s my boy, shut your eyes and go to sleep.” Diana hummed a little lullaby as Theo fell asleep. She couldn’t keep a tune if her life depended on it, but her son didn’t care.
She put him in his crib, turned on the baby monitor and waited for Mozzie to arrive. They’d gone through this before and he knew not to ring the bell, to send her a text when he arrived. Which was why she was ready to commit bloody murder when the buzzer rang. Theo started screaming and Diana pulled open the door, about to tear off the little man’s head, only to find Peter there, looking like hell.
Theo’s cries went up another notch in volume and she pulled her boss inside. “Wait here. I need – ”
Peter waved her off, understanding that her son took priority. Despite her aching need to pick her baby up and comfort him, she listened to the advice of her mother, her pediatrician, even Mozzie himself, and just rubbed Theo’s back, stroking him gently until he hiccoughed once, then once more before yawning and falling back to sleep.
Diana was exhausted, but this was the life she’d chosen for herself and as her mother said, she was looking at a lifetime of sleepless nights, so she’d better get used to it. She went to the bathroom, washed her face and went back out to face the world.
Or at least Peter, who was sitting in her living room, still looking like hell.
“What’s the matter, boss?”
All he said was, “I have to talk with Mozzie.”
“Neal?” Diana swallowed, wondering if Peter had gotten the news they’d all been dreading.
“Yeah.”
“Is he – ?” She couldn’t finish the thought.
“No, at least I don’t think so.” Peter lifted up a manila envelope he’d brought with him. “I have a clue, but I need to talk to Moz first.”
“Is this about yesterday? The meeting with the Secret Service?”
He nodded. “I found something – it’s incredible but …” Peter shook his head. “It’s almost unreal. I’ll show you when we get to the office.”
Her phone buzzed with an incoming text and Diana went to the door. It was Mozzie.
“How’s Teddy?”
Diana didn’t bother to correct him about her son’s name. “He’s sleeping, at last.”
“Another tooth?”
She nodded.
“Ah, well. Did you try some whiskey?”
Diana grinned. Her mother and her son’s nanny would get along just fine. Under better circumstances, she’d actually look forward to their meeting. But now, she had other – more urgent issues. “There’s someone here who needs to talk to you.” She headed into the living room, expecting Moz to follow.
Peter stood up, a terrible look in his eyes. “Mozzie.”
The little guy stopped in his tracks and Diana could see all of the joy leech from his face. “Neal?”
“I have a lead ...”
“How solid?”
“Solid enough – but before I tell you anything, there’s something I need to know. Has anyone contacted you about counterfeit hundred dollar bills?”
Moz didn’t answer, but Diana could read the truth on his face. So could Peter.
“Damn it, Mozzie – this is Neal. His life may depend on it.”
Moz stalled. “Someone might have…”
“I don’t have time for your word games. Did anyone reach out to you about a large quantity of Series 1991 hundreds?”
Moz licked his lips, still stalling.
“Please, Moz.” Peter’s desperation was clear.
“Okay, okay – an acquaintance I’ve done business with – may be hooked into a quantity of C-notes. He says that the bills are clean but his seller needs to move them quickly and is willing to take a deep discount. I might have expressed some interest in assisting with the transaction.”
Diana wasn’t sure what to do. Moz had all but admitted to conspiracy to traffic in counterfeit currency, conspiracy to aid and abet in avoidance of currency transaction reporting laws, money laundering, and probably a dozen other felonies. Peter caught her eye and shook his head. That wasn’t the point here.
“Moz – I need to get to the source of that currency.”
“You think Neal’s behind this?”
Peter didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“Why?”
Peter took a deep breath and seemed to debate something within himself. “Some bills have been picked up by the Secret Service...”
She was surprised at how candid Peter was.
“And they think that they are Neal’s work?”
“Yes – but I don’t think he was a willing participant in this.”
Moz blinked. “Why – why do you say that?”
Peter shook his head. “I can’t tell you that. Not yet. You’ll have to trust me.”
Moz paced the length of the room. “But you’re sure?”
“Yes. I’m absolutely sure it’s Neal.”
Moz opened his mouth and shut it; he seemed to be fighting his own internal battles. “I think I can arrange something – I can’t give up my contact, but maybe I can get him to give up his source.”
Diana had to step in. “Mozzie, this is Neal we’re talking about. Your best friend! You’d protect someone who might have a connection to the people who took him?”
“I can’t – I can’t burn him without being sure. You don’t understand!” Mozzie’s voice pitched up in a loud wail. If he had hair, he’d be tearing at it.
Peter intervened. “Diana – it’s okay.” He reached out and put a hand on Moz’s shoulder. “Calm down – let’s figure out how to do this. We’ve done this before, remember?”
Diana wasn’t completely sure what Peter was talking about, but she suspected that it had something to do with U-boat loot, Matthew Keller and Elizabeth Burke’s kidnapping. Peter had deliberately never told her the whole story. But whatever it was, it worked. Mozzie nodded and an understanding passed between the two men.
There were people around him, unfamiliar sounds and smells. He kept his eyes shut as he tried to figure out where he was.
What was happening to him.
What had happened to him.
His memory was scattered, filled with holes, gaping pits of lost time that he didn’t want to recover.
A hand rubbed his arm, the touch surprisingly gentle. There was a voice and he knew that it belonged to a woman. It had been so long since he’d heard a woman’s voice. That was something he knew.
“Can you open your eyes?”
He didn’t want to.
The hand didn’t stop its gentle stroking. “Please, open your eyes.”
He listened beyond the voice. There were soft pings – machines. And squeaks, less rhythmic and those faded and grew louder. He wondered if those sounds were made by shoes against a smooth floor.
He tried to identify the odors around him. It was hard, there was something in his nose and he opened his mouth to breathe. That hurt. His throat felt like fire. Like something had been shoved down it and pulled out, repeatedly.
He began to panic at that memory, thrashing at the hand on his arm, trying to pull away, to get away.
The machine noises grew louder and there were people shouting. More squeaks, more words and more hands and he struggled but they wouldn’t let him go.
He needed to get free, he needed to escape. He needed to save himself because no one was going to come and save him.
Peter would never find him.
Peter
He stopped struggling. It all felt so hopeless. Peter was gone. The pain of that thought burst through him and he heard himself moan. He sounded like an animal
It was only fitting, since he’d been used like an animal. Set to work and beaten if he didn’t fulfill his tasks. He wasn’t human; he was a thing to be used, to be used up and discarded when all his value was destroyed.
Peter would never do that. Peter might be angry at him, he might even regret their association, he might even turn his back on him and deny that they were ever friends, but Peter would never hurt him like this.
Peter would be so disappointed in him.
The voices and the hands receded. The light behind his eyelids faded and so did the panic. He breathed deep and before he lost consciousness, he remembered his name.
Neal
GO TO CHAPTER FIVE
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
