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elrhiarhodanTitle: We Rise Where Shadows Fall – Part Five
Artist: Nioell
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 Mitchell, Mozzie, Clinton Jones, Lauren Cruz, Kyle Bancroft, Original Characters; Peter/Neal, past Neal/Adler, past Peter/Elizabeth (marriage of convenience), Peter-Elizabeth friendship
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Word Count: ~41,000
Beta Credit:coffeethyme4me, miri_thompson, theatregirl7299.
Summary: Neal, a former employee of Vincent Adler – and the only person from Adler’s organization to serve jail time – has agreed to help the FBI find Adler. Peter Burke, the case agent assigned to the Adler case, is worried about Neal’s safety and doesn’t trust the Marshals, so he’s keeping him close at hand. The attraction between the two men grows as they learn about each other and everything comes to a head when Neal finally shares a devastating secret.
Title from the Oysterband song, “Rise Above”.
Written for Round One of the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
wc_reverse_bb.
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They made it down to the street before Neal burst out laughing. “I can’t believe Stan was really that stupid.” He had to lean against the building to catch his breath.
“Yeah, I was kind of surprised, myself. I had hoped he’d tip his hand about colluding with the AUSA on your case, but I didn’t expect him to offer you a bribe right in front of me. If he’d stopped with just refunding your fee, he would have been fine, but making it contingent on your silence crossed the line. That was pretty damn stupid. ”
Neal stopped laughing. “And so was I, apparently. How did I not realize what was going on?”
“Because you did what you were supposed to do, you trusted your attorney.” Peter rested a hand on his shoulder and then tugged at him. “Come on, we need to get to the bank. It’s close to three and I don’t want to have to wait until tomorrow.”
Neal took a deep breath, putting his aggravation and disillusionment aside. He’d deal with what happened later. “Okay. My safety deposit box is at the main branch. It’s not that far from here.”
As they walked, Neal asked, “Would you really have had your team come with search warrants?”
“Nope. Need probable cause for a warrant, and the bar is high – pardon the pun – with law firms. Judges tend to be cautious when you have attorney-client privilege and all that. The receptionist shouldn’t have panicked, but I’ll chalk that up to her inexperience. I’m surprised, though, that Volker’s secretary didn’t stand her ground. With all her years of experience, she should have known that I just couldn’t get a warrant like that.”
“Unless she knows that there’s something dirty going on and figured that you were there because of that.” Neal turned the corner onto Park Avenue, trying to remember which direction he had to go to get to the bank
“That makes sense.” Peter turned right. “This way – it’s at the corner of Fifty-Second.”
They arrived at the bank about twenty minutes before closing and the manager wasn’t all that happy to accommodate them. He told them, “Access to the safety deposit boxes ends a half-hour before end of business.”
Peter asked, “Is the vault on a time lock?”
“No, but – ”
“Then we need access now.” Peter held up his badge and Neal held up his key.
The man gave them an aggravated sigh and took them through the sign-in process, carefully checking Neal’s signature against the one on file. They followed the manager into the vault area. The vault door was opened, but access to the room was through a set of bars that the manager opened with a code and keycard. Neal had a moment of déjà vu so strong that he gripped the bars and had to force himself to walk through them.
Peter looked at him with concern. “You all right?”
Neal swallowed against the dryness in his mouth. “Yeah, I’ll be okay. Let’s make this quick.”
The manager used his master key and gestured for Neal to put his in the lock. The small door opened and Neal pulled out the box. It was heavier than he remembered.
“You can use this room, gentlemen.” The manager pointed them to a small, private space, little bigger than a coat closet. “Ring the bell when you’re done. And if possible, can you be quick about it? The branch closes in ten minutes.”
Neal set the box on the table and Peter closed the door behind them. He was curious about the contents. “It’s funny – I can remember getting this box, paying the bank for ten years in advance, giving the key to Stan, but I don’t remember what’s in here.”
“I’m guessing that the last few weeks before your sentencing were pretty chaotic.”
“Yeah. Liquidating everything, constantly signing papers, making sure my mother was taken care of.” He opened the box, shocked by the disorder and hit with the vague memory of just shoving things into it, anxious to get it over and done with. “I probably should go through everything, but we don’t have time.” He chuckled at the unintentional irony.
“I have to ask – is there anything from your work with Adler in there?”
Neal pulled out some papers, the originals of his college transcripts, a title to a car he no longer owned, his birth certificate, which he put to one side. “No. I’d turned all my papers over to Stan. Sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. Just asking.”
Neal found his passport, which still had a few years left before expiring. He reached deep into the back of the box and his fingers brushed against leather, not metal – the box with the watch. He couldn’t wrap his hand around it and it was jammed deep. He grunted in frustration.
“Here, let me.” Peter turned the safety deposit box and opened the catch on the opposite side. “There – no need to struggle.”
The papers jammed into the box spilled out when Peter opened the other lid, revealing the Patek Philippe box.
“Neal, I have to ask – why did you keep this?” Peter picked up the box.
Neal felt himself flushing. “What do you mean?” He knew exactly what Peter meant, but he wanted to buy himself some time before answering.
“I thought you turned over everything – ”
He cut Peter off. “This was a personal gift. I didn’t have to turn it over.” He hoped he sounded cool, but in his head, it seemed like he was whining.
“That’s not what I meant. You’ve been living pretty much hand to mouth since you got out of prison. You could have sold the watch and lived pretty well.”
Even though there was no judgment or censure in Peter’s tone, Neal flushed again. “I forgot about it – really. I just forgot I had it. I shoved it in here and forgot about it until today, okay?” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself of that.
He handed Peter the box and put his passport in his breast pocket. His birth certificate, which he thought he’d need if his passport had expired, went back into the box, along with the rest of the papers. Someday when he had the time, he was going to come back and sort through everything.
The manager was waiting for them and made quick work of putting the box back. Neal made sure he had the key and double-checked that Peter was holding the watch. He thanked the bank manager, who escorted them to the front door.
Back at the office, back in the conference room, Peter handed him the watch box. “Here, let’s see if we can figure out what’s triggering your gut.”
Neal took a deep breath and as he opened the box. He thought that he should have checked it before leaving the bank – maybe someone had gotten into his box and took the damn thing. But no, it was there, in pristine condition. He might have worn it three times before Vincent found it on the dining room table, next to his laptop where he’d left it overnight.
He had told Peter that Vincent had been upset at seeing the watch left so carelessly lying around, but that really wasn’t the whole truth. The man’s anger had been almost frightening in its intensity.
Vincent hadn’t shouted out him, hadn’t threatened him, but Neal could see the rage in his eyes. He had said to him in a quiet and deadly voice, “Everybody gets one big mistake in life and one opportunity to fix it. ”
At that moment, Neal wasn’t so sure why leaving the watch out was such a big deal, but he didn’t like the idea of Vincent being angry with him. He’d babbled about not wearing watches, and he promised to take better care of it.
And like that, Vincent seemed to have forgiven him. He laughed at Neal’s gauche apology and made that joke about the watch holding a great secret. “Just take care of it, Neal. Like you are to me, its value is incalculable.”
Neal remembered being overwhelmed by the compliment. At the earliest opportunity; he’d done some basic research on the watch. The information had stunned him. He had figured that the watch was pricey given Vincent’s reaction, and the man was known – at least within his inner circle – for his generosity. Neal had been appalled at himself. He’d left a million dollar watch out. He’d worn a million dollar watch like it was a graduation present from some vaguely fond relative.
After that, Neal had kept the watch in his own apartment, in a wall safe, taking it out almost every night he spent alone and practically mooning over it. He’d remember Vincent’s words about it holding a great secret; he’d remember the feeling of this being a love gift. He’d feel happy and important and that nothing in his past ever mattered because his future was endless and perfect.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Peter had left Neal in the conference room and called in Clinton to discuss what had happened at Stanley Volker’s office. Clinton said he’d get in touch with OPR, since this involved corruption within the U.S. Attorney’s office. The debriefing hadn’t taken long, a half-hour or so, and he was anxious to get back to Neal, to see what he found. “Anything?”
Neal looked up and grimaced. “I think maybe. Can we go into your office? The desk lamp there would help.”
“I have a magnifying glass, if that would help, too.”
“Maybe.”
They relocated back to his office and Peter gestured for Neal to sit in his chair. He looked on as Neal stared at the watch, examining the front face, the back, then the front again. He didn’t ask again, but retrieved an old fashioned magnifying glass from the bookcase. It had been a gift from El too many years ago.
“Here.” He handed it to Neal and waited.
Neal kept looking and Peter kept waiting. It was nerve-wracking but his patience paid off when Neal lifted his head and smiled. “I think I’ve got something. Come, look.” He held the magnifying glass over the front watch face. “Look at the date numbers. Do you see anything?”
Peter wasn’t sure. “There’s something there – under some of the numbers, right? Is that what you’re seeing?”
“Yeah – there’s a tiny gold dot, and on two of the numbers, I see two dots.”
“Read them to me.”
“Let me see – one, three, five – and the five has two dots, nine, twelve, thirteen. No, not thirteen. Fourteen, and that one has two dots, too. Eighteen, twenty and twenty-five.” Neal looked at him. “A code?”
“Seems like it.”
Neal asked, “Do you have a cryptography lab or something?”
“Yeah, we do have that, but I wonder if we’ll need it. This can’t be too complicated. I’m thinking that it’s something that he’d want you to figure out? Maybe it’s a substitution cipher?”
Neal said quietly, “I don’t know if it was something he wanted me to figure out, Peter.”
That odd note in Neal’s voice was back. “Then why give you a million dollar watch with a hidden code?”
“I don’t know. But the reasons for the gift really aren’t important. We have the watch, we’ve got a code, and now we have to break it. And you really don’t think you need to send this to a cryptography lab?”
“If I have to, I’d have to send the whole watch and they’ll probably want to take it apart and then you’ll be left with little more than a worthless pile of gears. Let’s see if we can solve this puzzle ourselves.”
“All right.” Neal seemed skeptical and his agreement lacked enthusiasm.
“You’re looking at a five-time New York State cryptogram champion. I love puzzles.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Neal laughed. “Okay, Agent Burke – how would you do this?”
“Well, if it is a simple number-to-letter substitution, let’s start with those two numbers with the two dots. Maybe they mark letters that occur twice. The most common letters of the alphabet are E, A, T, O and N. I’ll bet that the two dots under the 5 mean it’s ‘E’ and the two dots under the 14 mean it’s ‘N’.”
“Of course you know the numerical equivalents for each letter of the alphabet off hand,” Neal commented with a laugh.
Peter ignored him and continued, “We go from there and we’ve got A, C, E, E, I, L, N, N, R, T and Y.” Peter scribbled out the letters onto a legal pad.
“Now we make a word out of that?”
“Or several words. I wonder if there’s anything to tell us how many there are. Look at the watch again.”
Neal did, this time looking at the back face with the ring dial around the Summer Triangle constellations. “There’s another tiny dot, this time under the 2.”
“Good, good – so two words. That makes it easier.”
Peter stared at the pad, and then stared at Neal, his face glowing in the lamplight. He really couldn’t help himself. The man was too damn beautiful for words, for his sanity.
“So? Anything?” Neal looked up at him and Peter all but drowned in that blue gaze.
“Ah, hmm.” Peter picked up the pad and went over to the white board, better to give himself some distance. A little breathing room.
He wrote out all the letters and started playing with them. “Well, here’s one that might fit, if it was three words, not two.” Peter chuckled at the result.
“‘Nice Try Neal’?” Neal laughed, too. “Vincent didn’t have that kind of a sense of humor.”
They kept at it – it was easy enough to get one word: ‘trial’ and ‘train’ and ‘realty’ were all obvious, but nothing worked well with the leftover letters.
Peter all but growled in frustration, scrubbing at his face. “Maybe we should send this down to the crypto lab after all.”
Neal just said, “Ancient lyre.”
“What?”
“It spells ‘ancient lyre’. And you know something? That makes sense. On the sidereal face, the star map is the Summer Triangle and the brightest star is Vega – ”
“In the constellation Lyra – the Lyre.” Peter laughed and shook his head. “Damn, we’re really good at this.”
Neal’s smile was bright, but a touch sad, too. “Yeah, we are.”
“But what does it mean? ‘Ancient lyre’ has to signify something.” Peter looked at Neal, who shook his head.
“I don’t know. Vincent wasn’t an astronomy buff and he wasn’t particularly interested in music. He loved his watches and he loved making money.”
“Well, I guess watch collecting is an expensive hobby.” That seemed lame to his ears. “It has to mean something. He puts this code into an expensive watch – what did you call it? A tourbillon? Is there any significance in that?”
Neal blinked. “Maybe. Maybe. Vincent had a dozen different hedge funds. There were the big public ones, the employee fund, and a few private ones for his personal investments. When I first started working for him, right after I found out about his obsession with watches, I commented that he should name one of his funds ‘The Tourbillon,’ because no matter what direction the market was going, his funds kept making money like clockwork.”
“I don’t get it.”
“A tourbillon is – ” Neal frowned as he struggled for an explanation. “It’s part of a watch movement – it’s supposed to counteract the force of gravity on the movement itself. I don’t really know how it works exactly, but it’s supposed to be the ne plus ultra of watchmaking, and it’s only found on the most expensive and most exclusive pieces.”
“So, maybe those numbers – in the order of ‘ancient lyre’ are for a numbered account?”
“Could be? Or we could be barking up the wrong tree completely. I don’t know.” Neal slumped back in the chair and raked his fingers through his hair. He looked exhausted – as exhausted as Peter felt.
“I think it’s time we called it a day. Let’s go home, have dinner, turn on the ball game and not think about watches or attorneys or codes or anything else until tomorrow.”
Neal smiled. “Sounds good. Can you lock this up or should we take it home?” He held out the watch.
Peter ignored the “we” and “home” in that sentence, just as he’d ignored those words when he’d spoken, and focused on the timepiece. “Good idea. Get the box – don’t want this scratched.” Peter opened the small lockbox in his desk drawer. It was solid, meant to withstand all but the most determined thief. Neal returned and handed him the box. Peter put the watch back in it, and he tucked it into the back of the safe. He locked the safe, the drawer and when they left the office, the door.
Neal watched and commented, “As Moz might say, ‘Just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you’.”
Peter laughed in agreement. “No truer words were spoken.”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
This was beginning to feel too much like a routine, going from the office to the car with Peter carefully watching the shadows, dodging traffic to the northbound West Side Highway, Peter’s doing his best imitation of a Formula 1 driver as he cut across three lanes of traffic to get to the exit. His vigilance on the way into the apartment, which wasn’t relaxed until the door was locked and bolted behind them.
It was a routine that Neal enjoyed too much. No, not the near-paranoia that someone would try to kill him, but the going home to someplace that mattered, with someone who mattered.
He went into his bedroom and got out of his suit. As much as he liked the finer things in life – because a Devore, even pre-owned – was definitely among the finer things, he loved being comfortable, too. After four years of orange prison jumpsuits, a simple pair of chinos and a pullover sweater were luxuries he’d never be able to take for granted.
Peter was still in his bedroom when Neal came out, and he had a vague idea to make dinner for the two of them. Peter Burke was a modern bachelor – he didn’t bother shopping for food. He simply had a regular delivery order from PeaPod every Saturday morning. There was fresh chicken and vegetables and as long as Peter had some basic spices, Neal was going to make a quick stir fry. A quick look through the cabinets confirmed that someone – probably Elizabeth – kept him stocked with the essentials.
He spent a few happy minutes peeling and chopping and indulging himself in a wonderful, terrible domestic fantasy. He’d never done anything this plebeian for Vincent. The man would have looked at him like he was crazy, or worse. And it would have been unlikely that the Cordon Bleu-trained chef who had prepared all of Vincent’s meals would have even let him step into the kitchen, let alone cook there.
Neal stopped cutting and wondered just what had happened to the domestics that worked for Vincent. There was a maid, a butler-cum-valet, a cook and a chauffeur.
“What are you doing?”
It was a good thing that Neal had put down the knife; because Peter’s abrupt appearance in his own kitchen startled him. “Vincent had servants at his house in New York. What happened to them?”
Peter didn’t miss a beat. “And why didn’t we look for them before coming to look for you?”
“Yeah.”
“The answer’s simple. Adler’s domestics disappeared right around the time he did. The house was stripped clean when the FBI came looking for him. According to the files, we first thought that they took everything because they could, but later it seemed likely that they knew that Adler was going to bolt and they were working on his instructions. We never found them.”
Neal remembered the butler, a hyper-efficient Austrian who never smiled and always knew what to do and when to do it. Vincent had often said he wouldn’t be the man he was without Dieter's assistance. “When we find Adler, I’ll be we find his staff. They were extremely loyal.”
“So were his vice presidents and his secretary, and look what happened to them.”
“Ah, yeah. That’s true.” Neal sighed and looked at the pile of cut up vegetables, his appetite gone. He finally answered Peter’s original question. “I thought I’d make dinner for us.”
“Getting a little tired of take out?”
“Yeah, more than you know.”
“You don’t have to cook; I can make something for us.”
“Pot roast? I don’t think so.”
“How do you know about that? Wait, don’t answer. El told you.”
“Yeah, she was singing your praises and that included your apparently excellent pot roast.”
“Why do I think you’re being sarcastic? El hated my pot roast.”
Neal shrugged and suddenly, inexplicably, his good mood was restored. “She did, but she was careful to tell me that it wasn’t your pot roast that she hated, it was all pot roasts.”
Peter didn’t look convinced. “Still – I can do this.”
“I’m sure you can, but being the living embodiment of Captain America is probably quite tiring, so let me handle this, okay?” Neal tried not to feel like he was sounding all wifely and fussy.
Peter just smiled, took a beer out of the fridge and headed into the living room. The sounds of the evening news filtered into the kitchen and Neal let himself fall back into that terrible fantasy. He found a skillet and while searching for the cooking oil, he discovered a not-so-old package of microwave rice. He sautéed and hummed and stopped worrying about everything beyond the confines of the apartment.
Just before everything finished, Peter came back into the kitchen, grabbed plates and cutlery and asked him if he wanted wine or beer.
“Actually, I think I’m going to stick to water tonight.”
“Good idea. I will, too. I think we’re both a little wrung out.”
The stir fry wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great. In Neal’s mind, it was only marginally better than takeout, if just for the virtue that it was hot. The spices he’d used were so old that they had no flavor. But Peter seemed to enjoy it enough to go back for seconds.
“Sit – you cooked, I clean up. That’s the way things work here at Casa Burke, got it?”
Neal didn’t have the will to even try to protest. He headed into the living room, as always distracted by the view.
“It’s been a long day.” Peter was standing next to him, and it was all Neal could do not to lean into the man, to enjoy the warmth and strength.
“A good one, though,” Neal replied.
“I’ll have to agree.”
“You really enjoyed yourself.”
“I did. It’s been a while since I’ve had the chance to frighten some lawyers.”
“Not just with Volker, I mean the whole thing. Planning the operation and working with your team. Hell, working with me and figuring out the code in the watch.”
Peter left the window and headed over to the couch, stretching like a big cat. “I don’t get to do this too often anymore.”
“What do you mean?” Neal didn’t understand. “You’re an FBI agent.”
“I’m mostly an administrator these days. I run the division and that means mostly paperwork and politics. My time as a field agent is pretty limited. When D.C. handed us the Adler case, they specifically asked me to take the lead on it. Otherwise, Clinton would have been the case agent. And honestly, I jumped at the chance. I miss the field.”
Neal could hear the absolute truth in that simple statement. “If you love fieldwork, why did you take the promotion?”
“Because.” Peter shrugged. “It’s hard to turn down an opportunity. It’s even harder knowing that I’d be the first gay agent to rise to that rank.”
Neal was surprised. “I didn’t realize you were out at work.”
“I told you I didn’t need a beard. I’m not in the closet.”
He sat down next to Peter. “There’s a difference between not being in the closet and being out to your co-workers.” When he worked on Wall Street, he hadn’t been in the closet, per se, but he hadn’t been out, either.
“True. It’s been a very long time since I hid who I was, even when it would have been a lot easier.”
Neal found himself with a dozen questions he wanted to ask, because this could have been his life. “Were you out when you were at the Academy?”
“No – not as far back as then. But I was lucky; my first posting was here in New York. I had graduated at the top of my class and was given my choice of assignments. I figured New York would be easier than Washington. More of a meritocracy here than in D.C. But I did wait until my probationary period was over before saying anything.”
“Can I ask, how did you come out?” Neal had a feeling it was an interesting story.
Peter shrugged. “One of the other agents asked me if I was seeing anyone. He wanted to fix me up with his sister who needed a date for some family wedding. I told him that I’d just broken up with my boyfriend and wouldn’t mind escorting her. He looked at me for a second and laughed. He actually said that it would be perfect, this way he wouldn’t have to worry about me putting the moves on his precious baby sister.”
“And that was that?”
“Pretty much. I took some ribbing, there were a few agents who didn’t like working with a fag, but my boss was pretty damn adamant that there would be ‘none of that homophobic shit’ under his watch.”
“The ‘don’t ask/don’t care’ thing?”
“Yup. It could have been really bad, but it wasn’t. I know just how fortunate I was.”
“I guess you had your parents’ support, right?”
Peter gave him an odd look. “Why do you say that?”
“You’re pretty well-adjusted. Probably one of the most angst-free gay men I’ve ever met. You seem like you’ve never had to deal with crap about your orientation.”
“Like being called ‘queer’ and ‘faggot’ by your mother?” Peter spoke with bitterness. “She used to say thank God my father hadn’t lived long enough to realize his only child was a moral deviant.”
Neal felt like shit. “I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be. I guess I should be flattered that I seem so well-adjusted.”
“It’s more than that, really. You are so centered and grounded, like you’ve never had a moment’s doubt about yourself, about who you are, and why you are like you are. You walk through the world like you own it and you don’t give a shit about what other people think.”
Peter looked startled and pleased. “I suppose that’s true, at least about not caring about what other people think. I just am who I am. My dad died suddenly when I was twelve and my mother never really recovered.”
Neal wanted to say that he knew just how that felt.
Peter went on, “She was never happy and by time I was in high school, I realized that there was nothing I could do that would please her, so I stopped trying. I loved her, but I wasn’t going to let her rule my life. I knew what I wanted from my life and I didn’t give a damn about what people thought of me. It hasn’t been easy, and there were times when I really thought about just staying in the closet and pretending. But I didn’t and I don’t regret a single thing.”
Neal wished he could say the same.
Peter, of course had to turn the tables on him. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Were you out?”
Neal shook his head. “No, I pretty much spent my twenties in denial. I’d date girls and feel like my life was one big, hollow lie. Wall Street in the early oughts wasn’t as bad as it had been, but if you wanted to play with the big boys, you had to act like a big boy. I didn’t have your courage or your sense of self. It was just easier to pretend. When I was at the brokerage, we’d work our asses off, and then hit the clubs on Friday – and I don’t mean the gay dance clubs in Chelsea – but the strip clubs and pick up bars on the West Side. It was all about appearances. About scoring.”
Peter just nodded.
“I’d go out with models and actresses. They liked what they saw, and the money I had didn’t hurt either, but I can’t tell you how many times I’d roll out of some girl’s bed and go cruising for a quick fuck. I hated it, though.”
“You hate being gay?”
“No – I hated the lies. I hated being on the down-low, I hated the anonymous fucking. I wanted something real, someone to come home to, to be with, to share my life with.”
“You’ve never had a serious relationship with a guy?” Peter seemed stunned.
Neal didn’t want to answer that, but he didn’t want to lie, either. So he found the middle ground and told Peter as much of the truth as he dared. “No, I did. After I started working for Adler, there was … someone. Neither of us was out of the closet, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t seem to matter.”
There must have been something in his voice, something that gave away his feelings, because Peter asked, “You loved him?”
“At the time, I thought I did. I’m not so sure now.” Neal hated the compassion and sympathy he saw in Peter’s eyes. “But it’s been over for a long time and it doesn’t really matter.”
“What happened?”
Neal just gave Peter a look, not wanting to say more than he already had.
“Ah, it didn’t survive your prison sentence.”
He wasn’t going to tell Peter that it hadn’t survived his arrest and indictment. Vincent had disappeared from the face of the earth right before the FBI put the cuffs on him.
“What about you? Were you ever in a serious relationship?” Turnabout was fair play.
Peter just smiled. “There were times when I was with someone and it could have gotten serious. But I’m not the easiest guy to get along with.”
It was Neal’s turn to be surprised. “You could have fooled me. You seem pretty easy going.”
“You don’t know me all that well. I work very long hours, I come home and I want a simple, quiet meal, watch a ball game, get some work done. I like my routine; I like things done a certain way. I can be a real fussbudget. I’m surprised El didn’t tell you about that.”
“She was trying to get me to go out with you, not scare me off. And so far, you haven’t said anything that would scare me off.” Neal tried not to blush, because that really did sound like a come on.
Peter didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he ignored it. “Anyway, there were a few times that could have been ‘the real thing’ as they say. But it didn’t work out – didn’t survive my foibles and demands.”
“And I guess that being married kind of put a crimp in your social life.”
Peter laughed with real amusement. “Actually, dating when I was married was a lot easier in a way. El and I would go out together and she’d pick out guys for me. I wasn’t particularly good at reciprocating, though.”
“Picking out girls for Elizabeth?” That kind of shocked Neal – she’d never said anything about being bisexual.
“No, no – I mean, picking out guys for El, setting her up.”
“Oh. Yeah, I could see how that would be awkward. It’s not like you could go up to a straight guy and say, ‘I know this really nice woman and maybe you’d like to date her. And by the way, she’s my wife.’”
“Exactly. And even if I didn’t tell him that El and I were married, it did come up eventually. Particularly if El didn’t like the guy or want to see him again.”
Neal could just imagine the scene, some moron putting the moves on Elizabeth, and she just dropping that tidbit into the conversation. Would pretty much guarantee no second date.
He leaned back against the couch, enjoying the companionship. Despite his feelings for Peter, despite how they met and what Peter needed from him, he couldn’t help but think of Peter Burke as a friend. And for the first time in his life, he had a friend who knew what his life had been like, how difficult things could be, how hard it was to fit all the pieces into place and make everything work.
And then, without thinking, he turned his head, met Peter’s gaze, and asked a question that could wreck everything. “Have you ever been in love?”
Peter blinked and Neal thought he wasn’t going to answer. Except he did, with a slight, sad smile. “Yeah, once.”
“It didn’t work out?” Neal’s mouth was dry, he really didn’t want to know the answer.
Peter just lifted his shoulders and let them fall. That shrug told Neal everything. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s okay, really.” Peter got up and went back over to the window.
It had started to rain, the droplets beaded against the glass. The silence stretched painfully and all the half-truths and evasions he’d told over the past few days felt like scabs that needed to be picked away.
“The man I was with – the one I thought I loved – ” It was hard, maybe the hardest thing he’d done since he’d pled guilty to crimes he didn’t commit, but he was going to say the words. “Was Vincent Adler.”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Vincent Adler
Peter felt a little sick at his blindness. For the better part of a week, Neal had been dropping bits and pieces, clues in everything he said and didn’t say, in the inadvertent pauses and moments when he wouldn’t meet his eyes. He should have put it all together, and maybe if he’d had the time, if he’d really thought about it, he would have. But should haves and maybes and would haves didn’t matter.
“I’m sorry.” Neal got off the couch and retreated to the other side of the room – to the front door.
Peter had a million questions but he couldn’t seem to ask a single one of them.
“I’ll go if you want me to.”
That, at least, was something he could respond to. “What? Why? Why would I want you to go?” Neal leaving was the last thing he wanted.
Neal looked wrecked, as bad as he had when they’d first met. “Because – ” The man couldn’t seem to get the rest of that sentence out.
Peter finished for him. “Because you and Adler were lovers?”
“Aren’t you disgusted? Don’t I revolt you?”
Peter wasn’t sure he understood Neal’s self-loathing. “Why would I be?”
“I was in bed – literally – with a criminal – a murderer, it turns out. I thought I loved him, I thought he loved me. Even after he disappeared, I still thought he loved me. I thought I was protecting him.” Neal stood at the door, fists clenched, looking like he was about to shatter. “All I’d ever wanted was to be loved by an equal, to be treated as an equal. I was a fool to think that Adler ever saw me as anything more than a trophy, a sexual convenience who knew how to keep a secret. I wasn’t an equal, I was a joke.”
Peter walked across the room, hands held down and out, as if he was about to talk down a jumper or a gunman. “You did nothing wrong.” Neal’s intimate relationship with Adler was going to make his direct involvement with Adler’s apprehension difficult, if not impossible, but Peter needed to make Neal understand that his relationship with Adler wasn’t wrong or bad or illegal.
Neal whispered, “How can you say that? I lied to you.” He said that word as if it was truly a mortal sin.
“You didn’t lie. You just didn’t tell me the whole story. Until now.” Neal needed comfort, not accusations.
“You’re good at splitting hairs, Agent Burke. A lie of omission is still a lie.”
He stood in front of Neal, hating the anguish in the other man’s eyes. “When we first met, I wanted something from you and you didn’t have any reason to trust me. I don’t blame you for not telling me what had happened between you and Adler.”
“Then. What about now? We’ve become – ” Neal laughed, but it sounded more like a sob, “friends. Friends don’t lie, they don’t keep secrets.”
Peter reached out and put a hand on Neal’s shoulder, just resting it there. “You haven’t had a lot of friends, have you?”
“What do you mean by that?” At least Neal sounded curious, not angry or filled with self-loathing.
“Friends – especially new friends – keep secrets from each other all the time.” He put a little pressure into his hold, pulling Neal away from the door.
Neal resisted a little.
“Come on, you’re not going anywhere.”
“It’s your job to protect me, right? To make sure I’m safe?”
Neal was getting prickly, but Peter didn’t care. He realized something that was a hell of a lot more important than Neal’s history with Adler. Neal cared about him, about what he thought. It seemed to Peter that Neal’s self-disgust wasn’t rooted as much in hating that relationship, but in his fear of Peter's reaction to it.
“It’s my job, but it’s more than that and you know it.” He tugged a little harder and Neal stumbled against him. Suddenly, Neal was in his arms and even though Peter knew that touching Neal, holding him, making love to him, was wrong, there was nothing he would do – short of Neal saying ‘no’ – to stop it.
“Peter.” Neal said his name and it sounded like a prayer.
He cupped his hand around Neal’s face, enjoying the roughness of his late-day beard and how it reminded him that Neal was – before anything else – a man. “I shouldn’t do this, I should let you go and we can deal with what you told me tomorrow.” Peter swallowed. “But unless you tell me to stop, I don’t think I can.”
“Why? Why do you want me? Why would you want me?”
Peter couldn’t believe how Neal could doubt his self-worth that much, but he could believe the pain he heard. “Because you’re smart and you’re beautiful and you’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a man. And I know I’m doing everything wrong and that this could end up being the worst thing in my career, but – ” Peter stopped and thought about the words he was about to say, what they’d mean in the morning, “You’re worth it.”
Neal looked at him, his eyes huge, full of wonder. “I – I don’t know what to say.”
“Tell me to stop if this isn’t what you want, if you have any doubts about this.” Peter brushed his thumb across Neal’s lips, intending nothing more than a gentle demonstration of desire, but Neal chose that moment to lick his lips. His tongue touched Peter’s thumb and the accidental contact sent a bolt of lust through him. Then that touch became a hell of a lot more accidental when Neal slowly, deliberately licked his thumb.
“I want this, I want you.” Neal punctuated that statement with another lick, before taking his thumb into his mouth and sucking on it.
Peter growled, he wanted Neal’s mouth on his mouth, and pulled his hand free. “Are you sure?”
Neal laughed. “I’ve wanted you almost since we met, even when I hated what you were and what you wanted from me. I looked at you and cursed, because I knew that El was right, you were perfect.”
Peter laughed, too. And then he let let lust, desire, days and days of longing rise in him. He put his mouth on Neal’s. He kissed him, trying not to devour him, trying to keep a rein on his self-control. Neal was kissing him back, his hands combing through his hair, his nails against his scalp, burning him, burning through his restraint.
They kissed and the world could have ended, but it wouldn’t have mattered. It was the perfection that Peter had barely let himself dream about every night since he brought Neal here. It was better than he imagined and all he’d hoped for.
Neal might have pulled him or Peter might have managed to steer them in the right direction. It was probably just luck, but they ended up in Peter’s bedroom. He didn’t have the chance to turn on a light when Neal hands found their way under his shirt and pulled it off him, and then his hands were at his pants and on his ass and Peter felt like his was being licked by fire.
“Slow down, slow down.” He managed to capture Neal’s hands and hold them still. Neal’s whine of frustration was gratifying but Peter wasn’t to give in so easily. “Let me see you.” He let go of Neal and turned on the bedside lamp. Shadows leaped across the walls, but Neal was caught in the light and he stood perfectly still, except for the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
Peter went back to him. He trailed a hand from Neal’s face to his shoulder, then down his arm until their fingers met and wove together. He gave a gentle tug, pulling Neal over to the bed, but waited for him to make the next move. Neal didn’t move, but he smiled – an expression of utter sweetness and joy.
Peter kissed him again, because he thought he might die if he didn’t.
And just as Neal had been, moments before, he was consumed by the need to touch skin, to feel the warmth of Neal’s flesh under his palm. He pulled Neal’s sweater off and was awestruck by the perfection he discovered. He glowed in the lamplight, pale and hard and smooth, nipples dark and peaked with desire. He whispered, “Neal” because he needed to say something and that was the only thing he could think of.
Neal smiled, his eyes like blue flames. “Was that a command?”
Peter understood the humor, but he wasn’t amused by his unintentional pun. Aroused, yes – not amused. “No, never.”
Neal reached out and cupped his groin. “I think you like the idea.”
Peter felt himself trembling at that touch. “I do. Too much.”
“I won’t break, you know.”
But I might. Instead of responding, Peter took Neal in his arms and kissed him again, unleashing all of his passion. He didn’t care about finesse, only pleasure - giving and taking and giving and taking until he felt empty and glutted and barely able to stand.
Neal’s hands were busy at his fly and he was so impossibly erect that he had to step back and undo his own zipper. It was one of those moments that could be horribly awkward or incredibly magical, and it was both. His pants came off but got tangled in his socks. Neal was fighting with his own socks and when he looked up, their eyes met and they both laughed.
The laugher stopped and Peter’s breath caught in his throat. He’d been an adult, with an adult’s appetite, for over three decades and he’d never experienced a moment of desire as perfect as this.
He spoke again, he said Neal’s name again and Neal came to him, naked and aroused - wanting this as much as he did.
The bed was under them, Neal was under him and there was hot skin, slick and salty and Peter was a creature of need and sensation. He wanted to devour this man and to savor him, to feast and feast and never be sated.
“Condom?”
It was agony but Peter rolled off Neal and reached for the night table drawer. He found the box and a few packets of lube more by chance than design. Neal took the lube from him and started to prep himself.
Peter managed to roll the condom on and he felt so huge, so damn aroused that he worried he might burst through the condom when he came. But those worries fled at the sight of Neal stretching himself, the slick on his fingers, on his asshole, glistening in the lamplight. The act was so lewd that Peter almost came from watching.
“You good?” Neal looked up at him and smiled.
“Yeah.” His tongue felt thick, his head stuffed with the sight of Neal lying beneath him. But when Neal started to roll over, Peter found his voice. “No, I want to see your face when we make love - I want to see you come.”
Neal just moaned and lifted his hips in invitation. “Please.”
Peter tried to go slowly, to ease his way into that hot tightness. It was one of the most beautiful, difficult moments of his life. He held Neal’s hips so hard he was certain there would be bruises there tomorrow. But Neal didn’t seem to mind as he arched his back, seeking deeper penetration.
He was in as deep as he could go - or as deep as he was willing to go without hurting Neal - and he let go of his hips, letting their bodies rest flush against each other, Neal’s cock a hot bar against his belly. He thrust and Neal thrust back and they found a perfect rhythm. Their hands met, their fingers tangled and they rocked against each other. Peter buried his face in Neal’s shoulder, felt Neal’s breath in his hair and he thrust and Neal pushed back against him and their hands still gripped each other, holding on against the slick sweat.
He pushed into Neal and Neal’s hips canted up, his legs wrapped around him and he pulled out, a small and painful distance. Neal moaned, a prayer, his name, a curse and Peter kept fucking, kept penetrating, kept making love because that was the total purpose of his existence.
Another thrust and another stroke and Neal screamed his name and came, semen hot and scalding between their bellies. Peter gripped Neal’s hands and thrust one last time, and his universe turned blinding white in that moment of perfection.
Consciousness returned and Peter opened his eyes, only to drown in blueness.
Neal kissed him and happiness bubbled in his veins, stirring echoes of pleasure. He levered himself up and they both winced as Peter pulled out. He laid on his back, panting.
Neal stirred and Peter turned his head. “Where are you going?” There was no way he was letting Neal go, not tonight, maybe not ever.
“Just to clean up.”
“Shh, stay here.” He pushed Neal back onto the mattress. “I’ll take care of you.”
“You always do.” Neal settled back into the sheets, resting on his side and looking like he belonged no place else.
Peter managed to hurry to the bathroom, despite his lassitude. He disposed of the condom, washed up and took some fresh towels back to the bedroom. Neal had rolled over, his eyes were closed and his body had taken on the boneless lines of sleep.
He left the towels on the bureau and climbed back into bed. He rested a hand on Neal’s back and watched him sleep. Peter wished that he’d been as brave as Neal had been tonight; brave enough to admit an unpleasant truth.
He hadn’t lied to Neal when he had told him that he’d once been in love. He’d been careful not to say anything more, letting Neal interpret his silence to mean that the relationship hadn’t worked out. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the truth either. He hadn’t been in love.
He was in love. He loved Neal Caffrey.
FIN
GO TO MASTERPOST FOR STORY NOTES
Artist: Nioell
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Mitchell, Mozzie, Clinton Jones, Lauren Cruz, Kyle Bancroft, Original Characters; Peter/Neal, past Neal/Adler, past Peter/Elizabeth (marriage of convenience), Peter-Elizabeth friendship
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Word Count: ~41,000
Beta Credit:
coffeethyme4me, miri_thompson, theatregirl7299. Summary: Neal, a former employee of Vincent Adler – and the only person from Adler’s organization to serve jail time – has agreed to help the FBI find Adler. Peter Burke, the case agent assigned to the Adler case, is worried about Neal’s safety and doesn’t trust the Marshals, so he’s keeping him close at hand. The attraction between the two men grows as they learn about each other and everything comes to a head when Neal finally shares a devastating secret.
Title from the Oysterband song, “Rise Above”.
Written for Round One of the
wc_reverse_bb.They made it down to the street before Neal burst out laughing. “I can’t believe Stan was really that stupid.” He had to lean against the building to catch his breath.
“Yeah, I was kind of surprised, myself. I had hoped he’d tip his hand about colluding with the AUSA on your case, but I didn’t expect him to offer you a bribe right in front of me. If he’d stopped with just refunding your fee, he would have been fine, but making it contingent on your silence crossed the line. That was pretty damn stupid. ”
Neal stopped laughing. “And so was I, apparently. How did I not realize what was going on?”
“Because you did what you were supposed to do, you trusted your attorney.” Peter rested a hand on his shoulder and then tugged at him. “Come on, we need to get to the bank. It’s close to three and I don’t want to have to wait until tomorrow.”
Neal took a deep breath, putting his aggravation and disillusionment aside. He’d deal with what happened later. “Okay. My safety deposit box is at the main branch. It’s not that far from here.”
As they walked, Neal asked, “Would you really have had your team come with search warrants?”
“Nope. Need probable cause for a warrant, and the bar is high – pardon the pun – with law firms. Judges tend to be cautious when you have attorney-client privilege and all that. The receptionist shouldn’t have panicked, but I’ll chalk that up to her inexperience. I’m surprised, though, that Volker’s secretary didn’t stand her ground. With all her years of experience, she should have known that I just couldn’t get a warrant like that.”
“Unless she knows that there’s something dirty going on and figured that you were there because of that.” Neal turned the corner onto Park Avenue, trying to remember which direction he had to go to get to the bank
“That makes sense.” Peter turned right. “This way – it’s at the corner of Fifty-Second.”
They arrived at the bank about twenty minutes before closing and the manager wasn’t all that happy to accommodate them. He told them, “Access to the safety deposit boxes ends a half-hour before end of business.”
Peter asked, “Is the vault on a time lock?”
“No, but – ”
“Then we need access now.” Peter held up his badge and Neal held up his key.
The man gave them an aggravated sigh and took them through the sign-in process, carefully checking Neal’s signature against the one on file. They followed the manager into the vault area. The vault door was opened, but access to the room was through a set of bars that the manager opened with a code and keycard. Neal had a moment of déjà vu so strong that he gripped the bars and had to force himself to walk through them.
Peter looked at him with concern. “You all right?”
Neal swallowed against the dryness in his mouth. “Yeah, I’ll be okay. Let’s make this quick.”
The manager used his master key and gestured for Neal to put his in the lock. The small door opened and Neal pulled out the box. It was heavier than he remembered.
“You can use this room, gentlemen.” The manager pointed them to a small, private space, little bigger than a coat closet. “Ring the bell when you’re done. And if possible, can you be quick about it? The branch closes in ten minutes.”
Neal set the box on the table and Peter closed the door behind them. He was curious about the contents. “It’s funny – I can remember getting this box, paying the bank for ten years in advance, giving the key to Stan, but I don’t remember what’s in here.”
“I’m guessing that the last few weeks before your sentencing were pretty chaotic.”
“Yeah. Liquidating everything, constantly signing papers, making sure my mother was taken care of.” He opened the box, shocked by the disorder and hit with the vague memory of just shoving things into it, anxious to get it over and done with. “I probably should go through everything, but we don’t have time.” He chuckled at the unintentional irony.
“I have to ask – is there anything from your work with Adler in there?”
Neal pulled out some papers, the originals of his college transcripts, a title to a car he no longer owned, his birth certificate, which he put to one side. “No. I’d turned all my papers over to Stan. Sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. Just asking.”
Neal found his passport, which still had a few years left before expiring. He reached deep into the back of the box and his fingers brushed against leather, not metal – the box with the watch. He couldn’t wrap his hand around it and it was jammed deep. He grunted in frustration.
“Here, let me.” Peter turned the safety deposit box and opened the catch on the opposite side. “There – no need to struggle.”
The papers jammed into the box spilled out when Peter opened the other lid, revealing the Patek Philippe box.
“Neal, I have to ask – why did you keep this?” Peter picked up the box.
Neal felt himself flushing. “What do you mean?” He knew exactly what Peter meant, but he wanted to buy himself some time before answering.
“I thought you turned over everything – ”
He cut Peter off. “This was a personal gift. I didn’t have to turn it over.” He hoped he sounded cool, but in his head, it seemed like he was whining.
“That’s not what I meant. You’ve been living pretty much hand to mouth since you got out of prison. You could have sold the watch and lived pretty well.”
Even though there was no judgment or censure in Peter’s tone, Neal flushed again. “I forgot about it – really. I just forgot I had it. I shoved it in here and forgot about it until today, okay?” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself of that.
He handed Peter the box and put his passport in his breast pocket. His birth certificate, which he thought he’d need if his passport had expired, went back into the box, along with the rest of the papers. Someday when he had the time, he was going to come back and sort through everything.
The manager was waiting for them and made quick work of putting the box back. Neal made sure he had the key and double-checked that Peter was holding the watch. He thanked the bank manager, who escorted them to the front door.
Back at the office, back in the conference room, Peter handed him the watch box. “Here, let’s see if we can figure out what’s triggering your gut.”
Neal took a deep breath and as he opened the box. He thought that he should have checked it before leaving the bank – maybe someone had gotten into his box and took the damn thing. But no, it was there, in pristine condition. He might have worn it three times before Vincent found it on the dining room table, next to his laptop where he’d left it overnight.
He had told Peter that Vincent had been upset at seeing the watch left so carelessly lying around, but that really wasn’t the whole truth. The man’s anger had been almost frightening in its intensity.
Vincent hadn’t shouted out him, hadn’t threatened him, but Neal could see the rage in his eyes. He had said to him in a quiet and deadly voice, “Everybody gets one big mistake in life and one opportunity to fix it. ”
At that moment, Neal wasn’t so sure why leaving the watch out was such a big deal, but he didn’t like the idea of Vincent being angry with him. He’d babbled about not wearing watches, and he promised to take better care of it.
And like that, Vincent seemed to have forgiven him. He laughed at Neal’s gauche apology and made that joke about the watch holding a great secret. “Just take care of it, Neal. Like you are to me, its value is incalculable.”
Neal remembered being overwhelmed by the compliment. At the earliest opportunity; he’d done some basic research on the watch. The information had stunned him. He had figured that the watch was pricey given Vincent’s reaction, and the man was known – at least within his inner circle – for his generosity. Neal had been appalled at himself. He’d left a million dollar watch out. He’d worn a million dollar watch like it was a graduation present from some vaguely fond relative.
After that, Neal had kept the watch in his own apartment, in a wall safe, taking it out almost every night he spent alone and practically mooning over it. He’d remember Vincent’s words about it holding a great secret; he’d remember the feeling of this being a love gift. He’d feel happy and important and that nothing in his past ever mattered because his future was endless and perfect.
Peter had left Neal in the conference room and called in Clinton to discuss what had happened at Stanley Volker’s office. Clinton said he’d get in touch with OPR, since this involved corruption within the U.S. Attorney’s office. The debriefing hadn’t taken long, a half-hour or so, and he was anxious to get back to Neal, to see what he found. “Anything?”
Neal looked up and grimaced. “I think maybe. Can we go into your office? The desk lamp there would help.”
“I have a magnifying glass, if that would help, too.”
“Maybe.”
They relocated back to his office and Peter gestured for Neal to sit in his chair. He looked on as Neal stared at the watch, examining the front face, the back, then the front again. He didn’t ask again, but retrieved an old fashioned magnifying glass from the bookcase. It had been a gift from El too many years ago.
“Here.” He handed it to Neal and waited.
Neal kept looking and Peter kept waiting. It was nerve-wracking but his patience paid off when Neal lifted his head and smiled. “I think I’ve got something. Come, look.” He held the magnifying glass over the front watch face. “Look at the date numbers. Do you see anything?”
Peter wasn’t sure. “There’s something there – under some of the numbers, right? Is that what you’re seeing?”
“Yeah – there’s a tiny gold dot, and on two of the numbers, I see two dots.”
“Read them to me.”
“Let me see – one, three, five – and the five has two dots, nine, twelve, thirteen. No, not thirteen. Fourteen, and that one has two dots, too. Eighteen, twenty and twenty-five.” Neal looked at him. “A code?”
“Seems like it.”
Neal asked, “Do you have a cryptography lab or something?”
“Yeah, we do have that, but I wonder if we’ll need it. This can’t be too complicated. I’m thinking that it’s something that he’d want you to figure out? Maybe it’s a substitution cipher?”
Neal said quietly, “I don’t know if it was something he wanted me to figure out, Peter.”
That odd note in Neal’s voice was back. “Then why give you a million dollar watch with a hidden code?”
“I don’t know. But the reasons for the gift really aren’t important. We have the watch, we’ve got a code, and now we have to break it. And you really don’t think you need to send this to a cryptography lab?”
“If I have to, I’d have to send the whole watch and they’ll probably want to take it apart and then you’ll be left with little more than a worthless pile of gears. Let’s see if we can solve this puzzle ourselves.”
“All right.” Neal seemed skeptical and his agreement lacked enthusiasm.
“You’re looking at a five-time New York State cryptogram champion. I love puzzles.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Neal laughed. “Okay, Agent Burke – how would you do this?”
“Well, if it is a simple number-to-letter substitution, let’s start with those two numbers with the two dots. Maybe they mark letters that occur twice. The most common letters of the alphabet are E, A, T, O and N. I’ll bet that the two dots under the 5 mean it’s ‘E’ and the two dots under the 14 mean it’s ‘N’.”
“Of course you know the numerical equivalents for each letter of the alphabet off hand,” Neal commented with a laugh.
Peter ignored him and continued, “We go from there and we’ve got A, C, E, E, I, L, N, N, R, T and Y.” Peter scribbled out the letters onto a legal pad.
“Now we make a word out of that?”
“Or several words. I wonder if there’s anything to tell us how many there are. Look at the watch again.”
Neal did, this time looking at the back face with the ring dial around the Summer Triangle constellations. “There’s another tiny dot, this time under the 2.”
“Good, good – so two words. That makes it easier.”
Peter stared at the pad, and then stared at Neal, his face glowing in the lamplight. He really couldn’t help himself. The man was too damn beautiful for words, for his sanity.
“So? Anything?” Neal looked up at him and Peter all but drowned in that blue gaze.
“Ah, hmm.” Peter picked up the pad and went over to the white board, better to give himself some distance. A little breathing room.
He wrote out all the letters and started playing with them. “Well, here’s one that might fit, if it was three words, not two.” Peter chuckled at the result.
“‘Nice Try Neal’?” Neal laughed, too. “Vincent didn’t have that kind of a sense of humor.”
They kept at it – it was easy enough to get one word: ‘trial’ and ‘train’ and ‘realty’ were all obvious, but nothing worked well with the leftover letters.
Peter all but growled in frustration, scrubbing at his face. “Maybe we should send this down to the crypto lab after all.”
Neal just said, “Ancient lyre.”
“What?”
“It spells ‘ancient lyre’. And you know something? That makes sense. On the sidereal face, the star map is the Summer Triangle and the brightest star is Vega – ”
“In the constellation Lyra – the Lyre.” Peter laughed and shook his head. “Damn, we’re really good at this.”
Neal’s smile was bright, but a touch sad, too. “Yeah, we are.”
“But what does it mean? ‘Ancient lyre’ has to signify something.” Peter looked at Neal, who shook his head.
“I don’t know. Vincent wasn’t an astronomy buff and he wasn’t particularly interested in music. He loved his watches and he loved making money.”
“Well, I guess watch collecting is an expensive hobby.” That seemed lame to his ears. “It has to mean something. He puts this code into an expensive watch – what did you call it? A tourbillon? Is there any significance in that?”
Neal blinked. “Maybe. Maybe. Vincent had a dozen different hedge funds. There were the big public ones, the employee fund, and a few private ones for his personal investments. When I first started working for him, right after I found out about his obsession with watches, I commented that he should name one of his funds ‘The Tourbillon,’ because no matter what direction the market was going, his funds kept making money like clockwork.”
“I don’t get it.”
“A tourbillon is – ” Neal frowned as he struggled for an explanation. “It’s part of a watch movement – it’s supposed to counteract the force of gravity on the movement itself. I don’t really know how it works exactly, but it’s supposed to be the ne plus ultra of watchmaking, and it’s only found on the most expensive and most exclusive pieces.”
“So, maybe those numbers – in the order of ‘ancient lyre’ are for a numbered account?”
“Could be? Or we could be barking up the wrong tree completely. I don’t know.” Neal slumped back in the chair and raked his fingers through his hair. He looked exhausted – as exhausted as Peter felt.
“I think it’s time we called it a day. Let’s go home, have dinner, turn on the ball game and not think about watches or attorneys or codes or anything else until tomorrow.”
Neal smiled. “Sounds good. Can you lock this up or should we take it home?” He held out the watch.
Peter ignored the “we” and “home” in that sentence, just as he’d ignored those words when he’d spoken, and focused on the timepiece. “Good idea. Get the box – don’t want this scratched.” Peter opened the small lockbox in his desk drawer. It was solid, meant to withstand all but the most determined thief. Neal returned and handed him the box. Peter put the watch back in it, and he tucked it into the back of the safe. He locked the safe, the drawer and when they left the office, the door.
Neal watched and commented, “As Moz might say, ‘Just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you’.”
Peter laughed in agreement. “No truer words were spoken.”
This was beginning to feel too much like a routine, going from the office to the car with Peter carefully watching the shadows, dodging traffic to the northbound West Side Highway, Peter’s doing his best imitation of a Formula 1 driver as he cut across three lanes of traffic to get to the exit. His vigilance on the way into the apartment, which wasn’t relaxed until the door was locked and bolted behind them.
It was a routine that Neal enjoyed too much. No, not the near-paranoia that someone would try to kill him, but the going home to someplace that mattered, with someone who mattered.
He went into his bedroom and got out of his suit. As much as he liked the finer things in life – because a Devore, even pre-owned – was definitely among the finer things, he loved being comfortable, too. After four years of orange prison jumpsuits, a simple pair of chinos and a pullover sweater were luxuries he’d never be able to take for granted.
Peter was still in his bedroom when Neal came out, and he had a vague idea to make dinner for the two of them. Peter Burke was a modern bachelor – he didn’t bother shopping for food. He simply had a regular delivery order from PeaPod every Saturday morning. There was fresh chicken and vegetables and as long as Peter had some basic spices, Neal was going to make a quick stir fry. A quick look through the cabinets confirmed that someone – probably Elizabeth – kept him stocked with the essentials.
He spent a few happy minutes peeling and chopping and indulging himself in a wonderful, terrible domestic fantasy. He’d never done anything this plebeian for Vincent. The man would have looked at him like he was crazy, or worse. And it would have been unlikely that the Cordon Bleu-trained chef who had prepared all of Vincent’s meals would have even let him step into the kitchen, let alone cook there.
Neal stopped cutting and wondered just what had happened to the domestics that worked for Vincent. There was a maid, a butler-cum-valet, a cook and a chauffeur.
“What are you doing?”
It was a good thing that Neal had put down the knife; because Peter’s abrupt appearance in his own kitchen startled him. “Vincent had servants at his house in New York. What happened to them?”
Peter didn’t miss a beat. “And why didn’t we look for them before coming to look for you?”
“Yeah.”
“The answer’s simple. Adler’s domestics disappeared right around the time he did. The house was stripped clean when the FBI came looking for him. According to the files, we first thought that they took everything because they could, but later it seemed likely that they knew that Adler was going to bolt and they were working on his instructions. We never found them.”
Neal remembered the butler, a hyper-efficient Austrian who never smiled and always knew what to do and when to do it. Vincent had often said he wouldn’t be the man he was without Dieter's assistance. “When we find Adler, I’ll be we find his staff. They were extremely loyal.”
“So were his vice presidents and his secretary, and look what happened to them.”
“Ah, yeah. That’s true.” Neal sighed and looked at the pile of cut up vegetables, his appetite gone. He finally answered Peter’s original question. “I thought I’d make dinner for us.”
“Getting a little tired of take out?”
“Yeah, more than you know.”
“You don’t have to cook; I can make something for us.”
“Pot roast? I don’t think so.”
“How do you know about that? Wait, don’t answer. El told you.”
“Yeah, she was singing your praises and that included your apparently excellent pot roast.”
“Why do I think you’re being sarcastic? El hated my pot roast.”
Neal shrugged and suddenly, inexplicably, his good mood was restored. “She did, but she was careful to tell me that it wasn’t your pot roast that she hated, it was all pot roasts.”
Peter didn’t look convinced. “Still – I can do this.”
“I’m sure you can, but being the living embodiment of Captain America is probably quite tiring, so let me handle this, okay?” Neal tried not to feel like he was sounding all wifely and fussy.
Peter just smiled, took a beer out of the fridge and headed into the living room. The sounds of the evening news filtered into the kitchen and Neal let himself fall back into that terrible fantasy. He found a skillet and while searching for the cooking oil, he discovered a not-so-old package of microwave rice. He sautéed and hummed and stopped worrying about everything beyond the confines of the apartment.
Just before everything finished, Peter came back into the kitchen, grabbed plates and cutlery and asked him if he wanted wine or beer.
“Actually, I think I’m going to stick to water tonight.”
“Good idea. I will, too. I think we’re both a little wrung out.”
The stir fry wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great. In Neal’s mind, it was only marginally better than takeout, if just for the virtue that it was hot. The spices he’d used were so old that they had no flavor. But Peter seemed to enjoy it enough to go back for seconds.
“Sit – you cooked, I clean up. That’s the way things work here at Casa Burke, got it?”
Neal didn’t have the will to even try to protest. He headed into the living room, as always distracted by the view.
“It’s been a long day.” Peter was standing next to him, and it was all Neal could do not to lean into the man, to enjoy the warmth and strength.
“A good one, though,” Neal replied.
“I’ll have to agree.”
“You really enjoyed yourself.”
“I did. It’s been a while since I’ve had the chance to frighten some lawyers.”
“Not just with Volker, I mean the whole thing. Planning the operation and working with your team. Hell, working with me and figuring out the code in the watch.”
Peter left the window and headed over to the couch, stretching like a big cat. “I don’t get to do this too often anymore.”
“What do you mean?” Neal didn’t understand. “You’re an FBI agent.”
“I’m mostly an administrator these days. I run the division and that means mostly paperwork and politics. My time as a field agent is pretty limited. When D.C. handed us the Adler case, they specifically asked me to take the lead on it. Otherwise, Clinton would have been the case agent. And honestly, I jumped at the chance. I miss the field.”
Neal could hear the absolute truth in that simple statement. “If you love fieldwork, why did you take the promotion?”
“Because.” Peter shrugged. “It’s hard to turn down an opportunity. It’s even harder knowing that I’d be the first gay agent to rise to that rank.”
Neal was surprised. “I didn’t realize you were out at work.”
“I told you I didn’t need a beard. I’m not in the closet.”
He sat down next to Peter. “There’s a difference between not being in the closet and being out to your co-workers.” When he worked on Wall Street, he hadn’t been in the closet, per se, but he hadn’t been out, either.
“True. It’s been a very long time since I hid who I was, even when it would have been a lot easier.”
Neal found himself with a dozen questions he wanted to ask, because this could have been his life. “Were you out when you were at the Academy?”
“No – not as far back as then. But I was lucky; my first posting was here in New York. I had graduated at the top of my class and was given my choice of assignments. I figured New York would be easier than Washington. More of a meritocracy here than in D.C. But I did wait until my probationary period was over before saying anything.”
“Can I ask, how did you come out?” Neal had a feeling it was an interesting story.
Peter shrugged. “One of the other agents asked me if I was seeing anyone. He wanted to fix me up with his sister who needed a date for some family wedding. I told him that I’d just broken up with my boyfriend and wouldn’t mind escorting her. He looked at me for a second and laughed. He actually said that it would be perfect, this way he wouldn’t have to worry about me putting the moves on his precious baby sister.”
“And that was that?”
“Pretty much. I took some ribbing, there were a few agents who didn’t like working with a fag, but my boss was pretty damn adamant that there would be ‘none of that homophobic shit’ under his watch.”
“The ‘don’t ask/don’t care’ thing?”
“Yup. It could have been really bad, but it wasn’t. I know just how fortunate I was.”
“I guess you had your parents’ support, right?”
Peter gave him an odd look. “Why do you say that?”
“You’re pretty well-adjusted. Probably one of the most angst-free gay men I’ve ever met. You seem like you’ve never had to deal with crap about your orientation.”
“Like being called ‘queer’ and ‘faggot’ by your mother?” Peter spoke with bitterness. “She used to say thank God my father hadn’t lived long enough to realize his only child was a moral deviant.”
Neal felt like shit. “I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be. I guess I should be flattered that I seem so well-adjusted.”
“It’s more than that, really. You are so centered and grounded, like you’ve never had a moment’s doubt about yourself, about who you are, and why you are like you are. You walk through the world like you own it and you don’t give a shit about what other people think.”
Peter looked startled and pleased. “I suppose that’s true, at least about not caring about what other people think. I just am who I am. My dad died suddenly when I was twelve and my mother never really recovered.”
Neal wanted to say that he knew just how that felt.
Peter went on, “She was never happy and by time I was in high school, I realized that there was nothing I could do that would please her, so I stopped trying. I loved her, but I wasn’t going to let her rule my life. I knew what I wanted from my life and I didn’t give a damn about what people thought of me. It hasn’t been easy, and there were times when I really thought about just staying in the closet and pretending. But I didn’t and I don’t regret a single thing.”
Neal wished he could say the same.
Peter, of course had to turn the tables on him. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Were you out?”
Neal shook his head. “No, I pretty much spent my twenties in denial. I’d date girls and feel like my life was one big, hollow lie. Wall Street in the early oughts wasn’t as bad as it had been, but if you wanted to play with the big boys, you had to act like a big boy. I didn’t have your courage or your sense of self. It was just easier to pretend. When I was at the brokerage, we’d work our asses off, and then hit the clubs on Friday – and I don’t mean the gay dance clubs in Chelsea – but the strip clubs and pick up bars on the West Side. It was all about appearances. About scoring.”
Peter just nodded.
“I’d go out with models and actresses. They liked what they saw, and the money I had didn’t hurt either, but I can’t tell you how many times I’d roll out of some girl’s bed and go cruising for a quick fuck. I hated it, though.”
“You hate being gay?”
“No – I hated the lies. I hated being on the down-low, I hated the anonymous fucking. I wanted something real, someone to come home to, to be with, to share my life with.”
“You’ve never had a serious relationship with a guy?” Peter seemed stunned.
Neal didn’t want to answer that, but he didn’t want to lie, either. So he found the middle ground and told Peter as much of the truth as he dared. “No, I did. After I started working for Adler, there was … someone. Neither of us was out of the closet, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t seem to matter.”
There must have been something in his voice, something that gave away his feelings, because Peter asked, “You loved him?”
“At the time, I thought I did. I’m not so sure now.” Neal hated the compassion and sympathy he saw in Peter’s eyes. “But it’s been over for a long time and it doesn’t really matter.”
“What happened?”
Neal just gave Peter a look, not wanting to say more than he already had.
“Ah, it didn’t survive your prison sentence.”
He wasn’t going to tell Peter that it hadn’t survived his arrest and indictment. Vincent had disappeared from the face of the earth right before the FBI put the cuffs on him.
“What about you? Were you ever in a serious relationship?” Turnabout was fair play.
Peter just smiled. “There were times when I was with someone and it could have gotten serious. But I’m not the easiest guy to get along with.”
It was Neal’s turn to be surprised. “You could have fooled me. You seem pretty easy going.”
“You don’t know me all that well. I work very long hours, I come home and I want a simple, quiet meal, watch a ball game, get some work done. I like my routine; I like things done a certain way. I can be a real fussbudget. I’m surprised El didn’t tell you about that.”
“She was trying to get me to go out with you, not scare me off. And so far, you haven’t said anything that would scare me off.” Neal tried not to blush, because that really did sound like a come on.
Peter didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he ignored it. “Anyway, there were a few times that could have been ‘the real thing’ as they say. But it didn’t work out – didn’t survive my foibles and demands.”
“And I guess that being married kind of put a crimp in your social life.”
Peter laughed with real amusement. “Actually, dating when I was married was a lot easier in a way. El and I would go out together and she’d pick out guys for me. I wasn’t particularly good at reciprocating, though.”
“Picking out girls for Elizabeth?” That kind of shocked Neal – she’d never said anything about being bisexual.
“No, no – I mean, picking out guys for El, setting her up.”
“Oh. Yeah, I could see how that would be awkward. It’s not like you could go up to a straight guy and say, ‘I know this really nice woman and maybe you’d like to date her. And by the way, she’s my wife.’”
“Exactly. And even if I didn’t tell him that El and I were married, it did come up eventually. Particularly if El didn’t like the guy or want to see him again.”
Neal could just imagine the scene, some moron putting the moves on Elizabeth, and she just dropping that tidbit into the conversation. Would pretty much guarantee no second date.
He leaned back against the couch, enjoying the companionship. Despite his feelings for Peter, despite how they met and what Peter needed from him, he couldn’t help but think of Peter Burke as a friend. And for the first time in his life, he had a friend who knew what his life had been like, how difficult things could be, how hard it was to fit all the pieces into place and make everything work.
And then, without thinking, he turned his head, met Peter’s gaze, and asked a question that could wreck everything. “Have you ever been in love?”
Peter blinked and Neal thought he wasn’t going to answer. Except he did, with a slight, sad smile. “Yeah, once.”
“It didn’t work out?” Neal’s mouth was dry, he really didn’t want to know the answer.
Peter just lifted his shoulders and let them fall. That shrug told Neal everything. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s okay, really.” Peter got up and went back over to the window.
It had started to rain, the droplets beaded against the glass. The silence stretched painfully and all the half-truths and evasions he’d told over the past few days felt like scabs that needed to be picked away.
“The man I was with – the one I thought I loved – ” It was hard, maybe the hardest thing he’d done since he’d pled guilty to crimes he didn’t commit, but he was going to say the words. “Was Vincent Adler.”
Vincent Adler
Peter felt a little sick at his blindness. For the better part of a week, Neal had been dropping bits and pieces, clues in everything he said and didn’t say, in the inadvertent pauses and moments when he wouldn’t meet his eyes. He should have put it all together, and maybe if he’d had the time, if he’d really thought about it, he would have. But should haves and maybes and would haves didn’t matter.
“I’m sorry.” Neal got off the couch and retreated to the other side of the room – to the front door.
Peter had a million questions but he couldn’t seem to ask a single one of them.
“I’ll go if you want me to.”
That, at least, was something he could respond to. “What? Why? Why would I want you to go?” Neal leaving was the last thing he wanted.
Neal looked wrecked, as bad as he had when they’d first met. “Because – ” The man couldn’t seem to get the rest of that sentence out.
Peter finished for him. “Because you and Adler were lovers?”
“Aren’t you disgusted? Don’t I revolt you?”
Peter wasn’t sure he understood Neal’s self-loathing. “Why would I be?”
“I was in bed – literally – with a criminal – a murderer, it turns out. I thought I loved him, I thought he loved me. Even after he disappeared, I still thought he loved me. I thought I was protecting him.” Neal stood at the door, fists clenched, looking like he was about to shatter. “All I’d ever wanted was to be loved by an equal, to be treated as an equal. I was a fool to think that Adler ever saw me as anything more than a trophy, a sexual convenience who knew how to keep a secret. I wasn’t an equal, I was a joke.”
Peter walked across the room, hands held down and out, as if he was about to talk down a jumper or a gunman. “You did nothing wrong.” Neal’s intimate relationship with Adler was going to make his direct involvement with Adler’s apprehension difficult, if not impossible, but Peter needed to make Neal understand that his relationship with Adler wasn’t wrong or bad or illegal.
Neal whispered, “How can you say that? I lied to you.” He said that word as if it was truly a mortal sin.
“You didn’t lie. You just didn’t tell me the whole story. Until now.” Neal needed comfort, not accusations.
“You’re good at splitting hairs, Agent Burke. A lie of omission is still a lie.”
He stood in front of Neal, hating the anguish in the other man’s eyes. “When we first met, I wanted something from you and you didn’t have any reason to trust me. I don’t blame you for not telling me what had happened between you and Adler.”
“Then. What about now? We’ve become – ” Neal laughed, but it sounded more like a sob, “friends. Friends don’t lie, they don’t keep secrets.”
Peter reached out and put a hand on Neal’s shoulder, just resting it there. “You haven’t had a lot of friends, have you?”
“What do you mean by that?” At least Neal sounded curious, not angry or filled with self-loathing.
“Friends – especially new friends – keep secrets from each other all the time.” He put a little pressure into his hold, pulling Neal away from the door.
Neal resisted a little.
“Come on, you’re not going anywhere.”
“It’s your job to protect me, right? To make sure I’m safe?”
Neal was getting prickly, but Peter didn’t care. He realized something that was a hell of a lot more important than Neal’s history with Adler. Neal cared about him, about what he thought. It seemed to Peter that Neal’s self-disgust wasn’t rooted as much in hating that relationship, but in his fear of Peter's reaction to it.
“It’s my job, but it’s more than that and you know it.” He tugged a little harder and Neal stumbled against him. Suddenly, Neal was in his arms and even though Peter knew that touching Neal, holding him, making love to him, was wrong, there was nothing he would do – short of Neal saying ‘no’ – to stop it.
“Peter.” Neal said his name and it sounded like a prayer.
He cupped his hand around Neal’s face, enjoying the roughness of his late-day beard and how it reminded him that Neal was – before anything else – a man. “I shouldn’t do this, I should let you go and we can deal with what you told me tomorrow.” Peter swallowed. “But unless you tell me to stop, I don’t think I can.”
“Why? Why do you want me? Why would you want me?”
Peter couldn’t believe how Neal could doubt his self-worth that much, but he could believe the pain he heard. “Because you’re smart and you’re beautiful and you’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a man. And I know I’m doing everything wrong and that this could end up being the worst thing in my career, but – ” Peter stopped and thought about the words he was about to say, what they’d mean in the morning, “You’re worth it.”
Neal looked at him, his eyes huge, full of wonder. “I – I don’t know what to say.”
“Tell me to stop if this isn’t what you want, if you have any doubts about this.” Peter brushed his thumb across Neal’s lips, intending nothing more than a gentle demonstration of desire, but Neal chose that moment to lick his lips. His tongue touched Peter’s thumb and the accidental contact sent a bolt of lust through him. Then that touch became a hell of a lot more accidental when Neal slowly, deliberately licked his thumb.
“I want this, I want you.” Neal punctuated that statement with another lick, before taking his thumb into his mouth and sucking on it.
Peter growled, he wanted Neal’s mouth on his mouth, and pulled his hand free. “Are you sure?”
Neal laughed. “I’ve wanted you almost since we met, even when I hated what you were and what you wanted from me. I looked at you and cursed, because I knew that El was right, you were perfect.”
Peter laughed, too. And then he let let lust, desire, days and days of longing rise in him. He put his mouth on Neal’s. He kissed him, trying not to devour him, trying to keep a rein on his self-control. Neal was kissing him back, his hands combing through his hair, his nails against his scalp, burning him, burning through his restraint.
They kissed and the world could have ended, but it wouldn’t have mattered. It was the perfection that Peter had barely let himself dream about every night since he brought Neal here. It was better than he imagined and all he’d hoped for.
Neal might have pulled him or Peter might have managed to steer them in the right direction. It was probably just luck, but they ended up in Peter’s bedroom. He didn’t have the chance to turn on a light when Neal hands found their way under his shirt and pulled it off him, and then his hands were at his pants and on his ass and Peter felt like his was being licked by fire.
“Slow down, slow down.” He managed to capture Neal’s hands and hold them still. Neal’s whine of frustration was gratifying but Peter wasn’t to give in so easily. “Let me see you.” He let go of Neal and turned on the bedside lamp. Shadows leaped across the walls, but Neal was caught in the light and he stood perfectly still, except for the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
Peter went back to him. He trailed a hand from Neal’s face to his shoulder, then down his arm until their fingers met and wove together. He gave a gentle tug, pulling Neal over to the bed, but waited for him to make the next move. Neal didn’t move, but he smiled – an expression of utter sweetness and joy.
Peter kissed him again, because he thought he might die if he didn’t.
And just as Neal had been, moments before, he was consumed by the need to touch skin, to feel the warmth of Neal’s flesh under his palm. He pulled Neal’s sweater off and was awestruck by the perfection he discovered. He glowed in the lamplight, pale and hard and smooth, nipples dark and peaked with desire. He whispered, “Neal” because he needed to say something and that was the only thing he could think of.
Neal smiled, his eyes like blue flames. “Was that a command?”
Peter understood the humor, but he wasn’t amused by his unintentional pun. Aroused, yes – not amused. “No, never.”
Neal reached out and cupped his groin. “I think you like the idea.”
Peter felt himself trembling at that touch. “I do. Too much.”
“I won’t break, you know.”
But I might. Instead of responding, Peter took Neal in his arms and kissed him again, unleashing all of his passion. He didn’t care about finesse, only pleasure - giving and taking and giving and taking until he felt empty and glutted and barely able to stand.
Neal’s hands were busy at his fly and he was so impossibly erect that he had to step back and undo his own zipper. It was one of those moments that could be horribly awkward or incredibly magical, and it was both. His pants came off but got tangled in his socks. Neal was fighting with his own socks and when he looked up, their eyes met and they both laughed.
The laugher stopped and Peter’s breath caught in his throat. He’d been an adult, with an adult’s appetite, for over three decades and he’d never experienced a moment of desire as perfect as this.
He spoke again, he said Neal’s name again and Neal came to him, naked and aroused - wanting this as much as he did.
The bed was under them, Neal was under him and there was hot skin, slick and salty and Peter was a creature of need and sensation. He wanted to devour this man and to savor him, to feast and feast and never be sated.
“Condom?”
It was agony but Peter rolled off Neal and reached for the night table drawer. He found the box and a few packets of lube more by chance than design. Neal took the lube from him and started to prep himself.
Peter managed to roll the condom on and he felt so huge, so damn aroused that he worried he might burst through the condom when he came. But those worries fled at the sight of Neal stretching himself, the slick on his fingers, on his asshole, glistening in the lamplight. The act was so lewd that Peter almost came from watching.
“You good?” Neal looked up at him and smiled.
“Yeah.” His tongue felt thick, his head stuffed with the sight of Neal lying beneath him. But when Neal started to roll over, Peter found his voice. “No, I want to see your face when we make love - I want to see you come.”
Neal just moaned and lifted his hips in invitation. “Please.”
Peter tried to go slowly, to ease his way into that hot tightness. It was one of the most beautiful, difficult moments of his life. He held Neal’s hips so hard he was certain there would be bruises there tomorrow. But Neal didn’t seem to mind as he arched his back, seeking deeper penetration.
He was in as deep as he could go - or as deep as he was willing to go without hurting Neal - and he let go of his hips, letting their bodies rest flush against each other, Neal’s cock a hot bar against his belly. He thrust and Neal thrust back and they found a perfect rhythm. Their hands met, their fingers tangled and they rocked against each other. Peter buried his face in Neal’s shoulder, felt Neal’s breath in his hair and he thrust and Neal pushed back against him and their hands still gripped each other, holding on against the slick sweat.
He pushed into Neal and Neal’s hips canted up, his legs wrapped around him and he pulled out, a small and painful distance. Neal moaned, a prayer, his name, a curse and Peter kept fucking, kept penetrating, kept making love because that was the total purpose of his existence.
Another thrust and another stroke and Neal screamed his name and came, semen hot and scalding between their bellies. Peter gripped Neal’s hands and thrust one last time, and his universe turned blinding white in that moment of perfection.
Consciousness returned and Peter opened his eyes, only to drown in blueness.
Neal kissed him and happiness bubbled in his veins, stirring echoes of pleasure. He levered himself up and they both winced as Peter pulled out. He laid on his back, panting.
Neal stirred and Peter turned his head. “Where are you going?” There was no way he was letting Neal go, not tonight, maybe not ever.
“Just to clean up.”
“Shh, stay here.” He pushed Neal back onto the mattress. “I’ll take care of you.”
“You always do.” Neal settled back into the sheets, resting on his side and looking like he belonged no place else.
Peter managed to hurry to the bathroom, despite his lassitude. He disposed of the condom, washed up and took some fresh towels back to the bedroom. Neal had rolled over, his eyes were closed and his body had taken on the boneless lines of sleep.
He left the towels on the bureau and climbed back into bed. He rested a hand on Neal’s back and watched him sleep. Peter wished that he’d been as brave as Neal had been tonight; brave enough to admit an unpleasant truth.
He hadn’t lied to Neal when he had told him that he’d once been in love. He’d been careful not to say anything more, letting Neal interpret his silence to mean that the relationship hadn’t worked out. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the truth either. He hadn’t been in love.
He was in love. He loved Neal Caffrey.
GO TO MASTERPOST FOR STORY NOTES
Tags:
- character: bancroft,
- character: clinton jones,
- character: elizabeth burke,
- character: june ellington,
- character: lauren cruz,
- character: neal caffrey,
- character: peter burke,
- character: reese hughes,
- character: vincent adler,
- genre: alternative universe,
- genre: angst,
- genre: coming out,
- genre: friendship,
- genre: hurt/comfort,
- genre: neal as artist,
- genre: pre-slash,
- genre: romance,
- genre: slash,
- genre: ust,
- pairing: neal/adler,
- pairing: peter/elizabeth,
- pairing: peter/neal,
- type: fan fiction,
- type: longfic,
- wc verse: nothing will remain,
- white collar,
- written for: wcrbb,
- year: 2014
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2014-04-27 02:59 pm (UTC)I couldn't have imagined a more perfect ending. I'm so glad Neal finally told Peter about his relationship with Adler. I just so desperately wanted Peter to show Neal that he had no reason to be afraid. And he did \o/ In the most beautiful perfect way ♥
You have outdone yourself yet again :D Another winner story and 'verse :D No doubt I'm gonna be thinking about it for quite a while - my lovely source of happy vibes :D
Thank you so much {{{{{{{{{{{{{{{HUGS}}}}}}}}}}}}}
no subject
Date: 2014-04-27 06:06 pm (UTC)I had so much fun writing this - every project should be this easy. I am delighted it made you happy, too!
no subject
Date: 2014-04-27 05:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-27 06:00 pm (UTC)Any story where Peter and Neal end up in bed together is a pleasure to write, though.
no subject
Date: 2014-04-27 08:06 pm (UTC)I dearly love this story. Alllllllll that UST that you made work the WHOLE TIME and everything leading to those last scenes, which are so beautiful, omg!
I have to say, I also totally got off on the old Adler/Neal UST, too. It didn't detract from the Peter/Neal, so brava to you for pulling off that delicious dichotomy!
Also, El is LOVE.
Thank you for this story!
<3
no subject
Date: 2014-04-27 09:35 pm (UTC)And if you're a really good person, I just might write the Neal/Alder relationship for you. Oh, hell - even if you were an evil person, I'd write that. It's eating my brain, actually.
Love you!
no subject
Date: 2014-04-28 07:59 pm (UTC)Holy fuck. YES PLEASE. And please to include the dirty talk in German, yes?
*DIES*
(I love you, too!)
no subject
Date: 2014-04-28 08:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-28 07:22 pm (UTC)When I knew that there is a new installment I went back reading the two former parts and then the new part right after, so I just finished this 'verse and it still is so amazingly beautiful. I had tears in my eyes when Neal cried, I had tears in my eyes when El was so ill and needed surgery on her brain and I got always a warm feeling when Peter was there for El and then for Neal.
Bringing June in to it makes it all even better, not only to provide clothes for Neal.
The feelings that Peter & Neal share but first not wanted to give in to... priceless. And then the lovemaking - awwwwwwwwww.
I knew that this new chapter wasn't long enough to see the boys fly to Paris and take down Adler, although it is a long chapter but I'm already looking forward to the boys being in Paris. They will be on the job, of course, and they might be in danger, but I want a little romance in Paris, as well. I'm sure you are going to deliver this, you'll never disappoint me.
Your writing is awesome! I love how you picture Peter & Neal and in this 'verse I love it that El has a special bond with the both of them.
The scene when El was in surgery and dreamed of her childhood with Neal in it was so wonderful.
I know I'm babbeling about all three parts, but they belong together and I will always read them in one go.
Thanks so much for this 'verse! You already said that there will be more and I can't wait.
♥♥♥
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Date: 2014-04-28 07:27 pm (UTC)I was planning on writing Neal and Peter in Paris, confronting Adler, but decided to do it justice, it needed to be a separate story.
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Date: 2014-04-28 09:39 pm (UTC)I'm glad that you decided to seperate it.
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Date: 2014-04-27 09:19 pm (UTC)I'd love to see them take down Adler.
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Date: 2014-04-27 09:20 pm (UTC)That will happen - there's so much more of this 'verse to explore.
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Date: 2014-04-27 09:47 pm (UTC)I love the way you have reimagined our favorite characters in this world. The vulnerability and strength that define Neal, the protective and totally understanding Peter, the flirty but loyal to the end El.
I can't wait to see where this goes next.
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Date: 2014-04-27 09:56 pm (UTC)This is definitely going to be continued - there's so much more story to tell, here. SO MUCH!!!!!
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Date: 2014-04-28 12:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-28 05:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-28 06:55 am (UTC)And the ending almost made me cry! So perfect. I loooooove them. ;___;
Thank you for writing and sharing. :)
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Date: 2014-04-28 05:32 pm (UTC)And there's so much more of this story to come.
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Date: 2014-04-28 07:13 pm (UTC)Love that Peter finally admitted (at least to himself) that he loved Neal. Now he just has to tell Neal that.
I am glad there is more story coming because I want Adler to get what he deserves.
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Date: 2014-04-28 07:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-29 05:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-30 08:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-30 08:38 pm (UTC)That is really a cruel thing to do, ending the story here.
Everything worked out in your story. Loved how you made Neal coming to terms with his relationship with Adler, I could really feel how hurt he had been (been there, done that...) and loved that he finally opened up to a relationship with Peter.
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Date: 2014-04-30 08:39 pm (UTC)Well, it's only THIS chapter of the story - there's a lot more of this 'verse yet to be written.
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Date: 2014-05-03 08:45 pm (UTC)So I'm going to cop out and just say that I agree with everything Pooh wrote. :-) We do share a brain sometimes, so I'm not so surprised.
Oh, and Neal & Peter's visit to Neal's old lawyer - loved it!
Looking forward, hopefully, to more in this 'verse.
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Date: 2014-05-20 04:11 pm (UTC)And the answer is yes, there will be much more of this verse.
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Date: 2014-05-05 12:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-05-20 04:08 pm (UTC)I really had fun writing this - playing with the boys and girls in such different settings.
Of course, there will be much, much more to come!
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Date: 2014-05-20 03:56 pm (UTC)I loved all of this. I loved the UST, I Ioved El, I loved Jones and Reese and June. God, I loved Peter (I always love Peter. ALWAYS.) and if someone didn't just give Neal damn hug by the end, I was going to actually cry. Actual tears. So Thank You for the smexitimes that were so so much more than two boys scratching an itch. It got me right in the goodhurty feels.
And I've got two more from you bookmarked. But serials seeeerials make me so antsy. lol I'm the kid under the covers with my flashlight because I can't. Stop. Reading. And then I go a little nuts. ;) not that I'm not already there.
This is why I don't leave comments. Because I ramble and come off as partially insane. So I'll go. :D
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Date: 2014-05-20 04:07 pm (UTC)You have no idea how much I love this 'verse - writing this was such a joy. I couldn't keep up with the words pouring out of me.
So, thank you for staying up late and really enjoying it - and letting me know.
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Date: 2015-07-02 08:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-12-09 09:18 am (UTC)Geez, I said I'd write more after I read more, but then … why is it that Neal and Peter talking and saying all the things (and not all the things) and then **doing** the best of things makes it so hard for me to come up with words!??
Wonderful, wonderful story, and amazingly written. Now I need to read more… it's only 3:17, I can handle that, right?? O.o