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elrhiarhodanTitle: Return and Rebuild the Desolate Places – Chapter Five
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke, Mozzie, Reese Hughes, Clinton Jones, Diana Berrigan, Olivia Benson (L&O: SVU), Section Chief Bruce (McKinsey) Original Characters
Spoilers: White Collar, all of Season 5; no specific spoilers for L&O: SVU, but set in Season 15
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Kidnapping, torture (off-camera), rape (off-camera),
Word Count: This chapter – ~2000
Beta Credit:coffeethyme4me, miri_thompson, sinfulslasher, theatregirl7299
Story Summary: Six months after Neal disappears, Peter still has no answers and his decision not to go to Washington has had significant repercussions for both his career and his marriage.
Chapter Summary: Sergeant Olivia Benson pays a call on the White Collar offices.
Previous Chapters: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four
A/N: Title from Alan Hovhaness’ wind concerto, which takes it from the Old Testament. New chapters will be posted to my LJ every Thursday and to the relevant communities on Fridays.
__________________
Sometime in Late January – Friday Evening
Peter sat in his office and looked out over the empty bullpen. It was nearly six and the National Weather Service had issued yet another winter storm watch. The prospect of getting snowed in was enough to send even the most ambitious of his agents home.
The only other person left was Allen, the guard, who stayed on shift until the doors locked at seven.
Peter scrubbed at his face, disgusted and tired and angry. How the hell did his life, his career, come to this? Or maybe this was just what he deserved? After all, wasn’t everything he had built upon a lie, a crime?
No.
No, it wasn’t. He’d never told anyone, but he’d pieced together what happened between Hagen, Andrew Dawson – the AUSA who had pursued his case – and Neal. It was all there in Rachel Turner’s meticulously kept files. When Neal first disappeared, Peter had suspected that she was responsible. But that time he didn’t make the mistake of bringing her to the FBI offices. He had swallowed his nausea and his bad memories and went to the Metropolitan Correction Center to talk to her.
She had been, if possible, even crazier than before and he got nothing useful out of her. So Peter went through her files and started reading. Thinking about that now chilled him.
It seemed like the deck had been stacked against him from the very beginning. If he hadn’t been accused of killing Pratt, it would have been something else to put Neal into their clutches. Turner’s notes suggested all sorts of heinous crimes that could be pinned on him: not only murder, but corruption charges, witness tampering, even an inappropriate relationship with Neal. His role in the senator’s death just fell into their hands like manna from heaven. The timing was perfect.
Neal had no choice. They boxed him in, played him, pulled all the right strings. And Neal danced his way right into their trap.
After everything, Rachel, Hagen, the damned diamond, he’d smoothed things over with Neal. But he’d never apologized for what he’d said, and worse he’d never thanked Neal. And he couldn’t help but fear that he’d never have the chance to make things right between them. The feeling of failure was inescapable.
And today’s events only made it worse.
He’d gone down to the Treasury Department with such hope. He had a plan for bringing down the counterfeiting ring – or at least getting close to it. He’d convinced Moz to be his stalking horse, promising to protect him and, if possible, his own source. He put together the operation, following the damn rule book to the letter and was very firmly told, “We’ll take it from here.”
Just an escort out of the office and down to the street like he was a suspected shoplifter. Not even a thank you.
He didn’t bother calling Bruce, not that he was the type to complain to the brass. His one-time mentor called him just as he got back to his desk. The conversation was only slightly less humiliating than the meeting with Secret Service.
Bruce was, as he’d put it, fed up with him. This insistence that Caffrey was an innocent player in a counterfeiting scheme was ludicrous. And yes – he’d been told about the so-called message that he’d discovered in Franklin’s portrait. Computer forensics couldn’t replicate the words, what Peter had seen was a combination of printer artifacts and his vivid imagination.
Peter didn’t believe that was seeing things, that it was just a fortuitous printing error. He’d seen the knowledge in Carlyle’s deliberately blank expression, in Snider’s smirk, when he’d put the stacked bills on the projector. They knew about those words before they’d even called Peter down to the Treasury Department the first time. Peter didn’t say that Hughes had seen the message too. There was no point.
They wanted to pin this on Neal and there was nothing Peter could do or say that would change their minds. To them, Peter Burke was compromised and could no longer be trusted to uphold his oaths.
That wasn’t news; Peter had known that for a long time. He’d tried to deny it that night he’d gone to Neal’s and told him that he was getting him a new handler, but that was only delaying the inevitable. And that turned into a clusterfuck of epic proportions.
A dead agent. A ruined friendship.
Peter hadn’t argued. He sat and listened and when Bruce finished, he said nothing more than “have a good night” before hanging up.
Walking back to the office, Peter had stopped at a small corner store, bought an unlocked burner phone with cash, and did something he’d never done before, not even with Neal. He crossed the line and sent a message to Mozzie that he’d lost control of the operation and to be careful. Peter didn’t wait for a reply. He pulled the SIM card and crushed it under his heel. Another corner store, another unregistered SIM card. If he learned anything from Moz, it was how not to leave a trail.
Now, Peter sat at his desk and stared out at the skyline. He felt as aimless as the snowflakes drifting out of the clouds. He didn’t know what he was fighting for, what he was fighting against. It certainly wasn’t about justice anymore.
Voices distracted him. Allen was talking with a woman; she seemed to be holding a badge. Peter got up and went to the railing, his gut suddenly roiling.
“Is there a problem?”
Allen had opened his mouth, about to answer when the woman strode across the room, her badge held in front of her like a talisman. “Sergeant Olivia Benson, NYPD – I’m looking for Special Agent Clinton Jones. Can you tell me where he is?” Sergeant Benson looked up at him. “Who are you?”
“Special Agent Peter Burke, his boss. I’m the ASAC for the White Collar division. Clinton’s gone home for the day. What do you need with him?”
“I have a victim who told me to reach out to Agent Clinton Jones at the White Collar division.”
Peter’s heart raced. It couldn’t be … “Victim? Does this person have a name?”
The cop grimaced. “It’s odd, he wouldn’t talk to anyone at the hospital and was extremely reluctant to talk with the police. He finally gave a name, but I have the feeling it’s not his real one. The only thing he’d say to us was ‘tell Agent Jones that Danny Brooks hasn’t been living the dream.’ Do you know what this means? Do you know who Danny Brooks is?”
Peter closed his eyes and said a short prayer to a god he didn’t think he believed in. “Yes, I know who Danny Brooks is. He’s been missing for six months.” Peter swallowed, shaken out of his joy when he realized what the cop had told him. “You said he was a victim? A crime victim?”
“Is Mr. Brooks an agent?”
Peter took a deep breath, explaining Neal Caffrey to a stranger was always difficult. “Let’s go up to my office – it will be easier to talk there.” Not that he wanted to sit down and talk, he wanted to get to Neal, but rushing into the situation without all of the information could be dangerous. He needed to find out just what the hell had happened to Neal.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Olivia wasn’t unfamiliar with the FBI. She’d worked with the Bureau on some pretty horrific cases over the years, but this was the first time she’d ever crossed paths with White Collar, one of the FBI’s more rarified units, and she’d never dealt with an ASAC before.
What was truly interesting was how emotionally invested the agent seemed in this ‘Danny Brooks’. He’d tried to hide it, but there was a strong flash of happiness when she mentioned the name. Agent Burke wasn’t going to be so happy when he heard what had happened to the man.
“Can you tell me who Danny Brooks is?” Olivia figured she’d come out swinging.
Burke smiled. “This is going to be an interesting experience – are we actually going to interrogate each other?”
She nodded, but wasn’t going to give an inch. “Who is Danny Brooks? I can keep this quiet if it’s a deep cover alias.”
“It is an alias, but not like you think. Danny Brooks is an alias for …” Burke sighed and shook his head before continuing, “a CI who had been embedded in this unit for nearly three years. His real name is Neal Caffrey, and he disappeared almost exactly six months ago. Now, tell me what happened to him.”
She didn’t sugarcoat anything. “Three days ago, a man was dumped out of a white van near 12th Avenue on the West Side. He’d been stabbed and needed emergency surgery. The victim wasn’t able to talk until late this afternoon.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Of course Burke could tell that she hadn’t given him the whole story. Olivia said softly, as if to cushion the blow, “I’m with the Manhattan Special Victims Unit, Agent Burke. I was called onto the case because the victim’s condition indicated long term abuse.”
Burke didn’t blink, but even in the dim office light, she could see how pale he’d gotten. “Rape?”
“Yes, but I was called in because it seemed like the vic – excuse me, Mr. Caffrey – had been kept locked up and was abused for a long time.” She sighed; she’d been doing this for more years than she wanted to count and there was still no easy way to tell someone this. “He looked like he’d been tortured.” When Burke didn’t interrupt, she added some details. “There were Taser burns, whip marks, abrasions on his throat and ankles that look similar to scars we’ve seen on people who’ve been kept shackled.”
Burke still didn’t say anything. He looked like a man in shock.
Olivia had to ask. “Do you know Mr. Caffrey well?”
“Yes, I do.” Burke got up. “I need to see him, now. Where is he?”
“Mt. Sinai-Roosevelt.”
“Right around the fucking corner. Let’s go.” Burke holstered his gun and gestured for her to precede him.
They were on the street, walking against the blowing snow when Burke stopped and turned to her. “Did you do anything to try to identify Neal while he was unconscious?”
“I had a DNA sample submitted to the crime lab, but that will take weeks to come back.”
“Fingerprints? Did you take his prints?”
“No, but if he hadn’t regained consciousness, I probably would have.” The urgency in Burke’s question bothered her. “Would that have been a problem?”
“Of epic proportions. Neal – I didn’t tell you – was working out the balance of a four year sentence before he disappeared. The FBI found his skills useful.” Burke practically spat out that last word and Olivia had to wonder about the anger there. “He’d been on a GPS tracking anklet, which went dark when he disappeared six months ago,. It took three weeks for the Marshals to find the broken unit in the back of a flatbed truck that had been making a delivery to Maryland. Neal was listed as an escaped fugitive.”
Ahhh. “That’s why he didn’t want to give us his name.”
“And that’s why running his prints would have been disastrous. It would have triggered a hell of a lot of alarms in the system. When it comes to Caffrey, the Marshals have a hard time being reasonable. They probably would have shipped him back to prison regardless of his condition, claiming that he’d set the whole thing up.”
Burke grabbed her arm. Olivia should have shaken him off, but the anguish in his eyes stopped her. “You have to promise me that no one knows who the man in that hospital room really is.”
“Is he dangerous?”
“No, Neal’s not violent, not in the least. He’s a con man. He was a con man. He’d gone straight.”
Burke didn’t seem like a man who’d be fooled too easily, and she trusted him. “Okay, you have my word. Until you tell me otherwise, the only name in my report is Danny Brooks. Will the Marshals have a flag on that identity?”
Burke actually laughed. “After all this time, it’s doubtful.”
Olivia had no idea what he meant by that, but there were a lot of questions she had that she still needed answers for.
TO BE CONTINUED - GO TO CHAPTER SIX
Author:
elrhiarhodan Fandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke, Mozzie, Reese Hughes, Clinton Jones, Diana Berrigan, Olivia Benson (L&O: SVU), Section Chief Bruce (McKinsey) Original Characters
Spoilers: White Collar, all of Season 5; no specific spoilers for L&O: SVU, but set in Season 15
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Kidnapping, torture (off-camera), rape (off-camera),
Word Count: This chapter – ~2000
Beta Credit:
coffeethyme4me, miri_thompson, sinfulslasher, theatregirl7299 Story Summary: Six months after Neal disappears, Peter still has no answers and his decision not to go to Washington has had significant repercussions for both his career and his marriage.
Chapter Summary: Sergeant Olivia Benson pays a call on the White Collar offices.
Previous Chapters: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four
A/N: Title from Alan Hovhaness’ wind concerto, which takes it from the Old Testament. New chapters will be posted to my LJ every Thursday and to the relevant communities on Fridays.
Sometime in Late January – Friday Evening
Peter sat in his office and looked out over the empty bullpen. It was nearly six and the National Weather Service had issued yet another winter storm watch. The prospect of getting snowed in was enough to send even the most ambitious of his agents home.
The only other person left was Allen, the guard, who stayed on shift until the doors locked at seven.
Peter scrubbed at his face, disgusted and tired and angry. How the hell did his life, his career, come to this? Or maybe this was just what he deserved? After all, wasn’t everything he had built upon a lie, a crime?
No.
No, it wasn’t. He’d never told anyone, but he’d pieced together what happened between Hagen, Andrew Dawson – the AUSA who had pursued his case – and Neal. It was all there in Rachel Turner’s meticulously kept files. When Neal first disappeared, Peter had suspected that she was responsible. But that time he didn’t make the mistake of bringing her to the FBI offices. He had swallowed his nausea and his bad memories and went to the Metropolitan Correction Center to talk to her.
She had been, if possible, even crazier than before and he got nothing useful out of her. So Peter went through her files and started reading. Thinking about that now chilled him.
It seemed like the deck had been stacked against him from the very beginning. If he hadn’t been accused of killing Pratt, it would have been something else to put Neal into their clutches. Turner’s notes suggested all sorts of heinous crimes that could be pinned on him: not only murder, but corruption charges, witness tampering, even an inappropriate relationship with Neal. His role in the senator’s death just fell into their hands like manna from heaven. The timing was perfect.
Neal had no choice. They boxed him in, played him, pulled all the right strings. And Neal danced his way right into their trap.
After everything, Rachel, Hagen, the damned diamond, he’d smoothed things over with Neal. But he’d never apologized for what he’d said, and worse he’d never thanked Neal. And he couldn’t help but fear that he’d never have the chance to make things right between them. The feeling of failure was inescapable.
And today’s events only made it worse.
He’d gone down to the Treasury Department with such hope. He had a plan for bringing down the counterfeiting ring – or at least getting close to it. He’d convinced Moz to be his stalking horse, promising to protect him and, if possible, his own source. He put together the operation, following the damn rule book to the letter and was very firmly told, “We’ll take it from here.”
Just an escort out of the office and down to the street like he was a suspected shoplifter. Not even a thank you.
He didn’t bother calling Bruce, not that he was the type to complain to the brass. His one-time mentor called him just as he got back to his desk. The conversation was only slightly less humiliating than the meeting with Secret Service.
Bruce was, as he’d put it, fed up with him. This insistence that Caffrey was an innocent player in a counterfeiting scheme was ludicrous. And yes – he’d been told about the so-called message that he’d discovered in Franklin’s portrait. Computer forensics couldn’t replicate the words, what Peter had seen was a combination of printer artifacts and his vivid imagination.
Peter didn’t believe that was seeing things, that it was just a fortuitous printing error. He’d seen the knowledge in Carlyle’s deliberately blank expression, in Snider’s smirk, when he’d put the stacked bills on the projector. They knew about those words before they’d even called Peter down to the Treasury Department the first time. Peter didn’t say that Hughes had seen the message too. There was no point.
They wanted to pin this on Neal and there was nothing Peter could do or say that would change their minds. To them, Peter Burke was compromised and could no longer be trusted to uphold his oaths.
That wasn’t news; Peter had known that for a long time. He’d tried to deny it that night he’d gone to Neal’s and told him that he was getting him a new handler, but that was only delaying the inevitable. And that turned into a clusterfuck of epic proportions.
A dead agent. A ruined friendship.
Peter hadn’t argued. He sat and listened and when Bruce finished, he said nothing more than “have a good night” before hanging up.
Walking back to the office, Peter had stopped at a small corner store, bought an unlocked burner phone with cash, and did something he’d never done before, not even with Neal. He crossed the line and sent a message to Mozzie that he’d lost control of the operation and to be careful. Peter didn’t wait for a reply. He pulled the SIM card and crushed it under his heel. Another corner store, another unregistered SIM card. If he learned anything from Moz, it was how not to leave a trail.
Now, Peter sat at his desk and stared out at the skyline. He felt as aimless as the snowflakes drifting out of the clouds. He didn’t know what he was fighting for, what he was fighting against. It certainly wasn’t about justice anymore.
Voices distracted him. Allen was talking with a woman; she seemed to be holding a badge. Peter got up and went to the railing, his gut suddenly roiling.
“Is there a problem?”
Allen had opened his mouth, about to answer when the woman strode across the room, her badge held in front of her like a talisman. “Sergeant Olivia Benson, NYPD – I’m looking for Special Agent Clinton Jones. Can you tell me where he is?” Sergeant Benson looked up at him. “Who are you?”
“Special Agent Peter Burke, his boss. I’m the ASAC for the White Collar division. Clinton’s gone home for the day. What do you need with him?”
“I have a victim who told me to reach out to Agent Clinton Jones at the White Collar division.”
Peter’s heart raced. It couldn’t be … “Victim? Does this person have a name?”
The cop grimaced. “It’s odd, he wouldn’t talk to anyone at the hospital and was extremely reluctant to talk with the police. He finally gave a name, but I have the feeling it’s not his real one. The only thing he’d say to us was ‘tell Agent Jones that Danny Brooks hasn’t been living the dream.’ Do you know what this means? Do you know who Danny Brooks is?”
Peter closed his eyes and said a short prayer to a god he didn’t think he believed in. “Yes, I know who Danny Brooks is. He’s been missing for six months.” Peter swallowed, shaken out of his joy when he realized what the cop had told him. “You said he was a victim? A crime victim?”
“Is Mr. Brooks an agent?”
Peter took a deep breath, explaining Neal Caffrey to a stranger was always difficult. “Let’s go up to my office – it will be easier to talk there.” Not that he wanted to sit down and talk, he wanted to get to Neal, but rushing into the situation without all of the information could be dangerous. He needed to find out just what the hell had happened to Neal.
Olivia wasn’t unfamiliar with the FBI. She’d worked with the Bureau on some pretty horrific cases over the years, but this was the first time she’d ever crossed paths with White Collar, one of the FBI’s more rarified units, and she’d never dealt with an ASAC before.
What was truly interesting was how emotionally invested the agent seemed in this ‘Danny Brooks’. He’d tried to hide it, but there was a strong flash of happiness when she mentioned the name. Agent Burke wasn’t going to be so happy when he heard what had happened to the man.
“Can you tell me who Danny Brooks is?” Olivia figured she’d come out swinging.
Burke smiled. “This is going to be an interesting experience – are we actually going to interrogate each other?”
She nodded, but wasn’t going to give an inch. “Who is Danny Brooks? I can keep this quiet if it’s a deep cover alias.”
“It is an alias, but not like you think. Danny Brooks is an alias for …” Burke sighed and shook his head before continuing, “a CI who had been embedded in this unit for nearly three years. His real name is Neal Caffrey, and he disappeared almost exactly six months ago. Now, tell me what happened to him.”
She didn’t sugarcoat anything. “Three days ago, a man was dumped out of a white van near 12th Avenue on the West Side. He’d been stabbed and needed emergency surgery. The victim wasn’t able to talk until late this afternoon.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Of course Burke could tell that she hadn’t given him the whole story. Olivia said softly, as if to cushion the blow, “I’m with the Manhattan Special Victims Unit, Agent Burke. I was called onto the case because the victim’s condition indicated long term abuse.”
Burke didn’t blink, but even in the dim office light, she could see how pale he’d gotten. “Rape?”
“Yes, but I was called in because it seemed like the vic – excuse me, Mr. Caffrey – had been kept locked up and was abused for a long time.” She sighed; she’d been doing this for more years than she wanted to count and there was still no easy way to tell someone this. “He looked like he’d been tortured.” When Burke didn’t interrupt, she added some details. “There were Taser burns, whip marks, abrasions on his throat and ankles that look similar to scars we’ve seen on people who’ve been kept shackled.”
Burke still didn’t say anything. He looked like a man in shock.
Olivia had to ask. “Do you know Mr. Caffrey well?”
“Yes, I do.” Burke got up. “I need to see him, now. Where is he?”
“Mt. Sinai-Roosevelt.”
“Right around the fucking corner. Let’s go.” Burke holstered his gun and gestured for her to precede him.
They were on the street, walking against the blowing snow when Burke stopped and turned to her. “Did you do anything to try to identify Neal while he was unconscious?”
“I had a DNA sample submitted to the crime lab, but that will take weeks to come back.”
“Fingerprints? Did you take his prints?”
“No, but if he hadn’t regained consciousness, I probably would have.” The urgency in Burke’s question bothered her. “Would that have been a problem?”
“Of epic proportions. Neal – I didn’t tell you – was working out the balance of a four year sentence before he disappeared. The FBI found his skills useful.” Burke practically spat out that last word and Olivia had to wonder about the anger there. “He’d been on a GPS tracking anklet, which went dark when he disappeared six months ago,. It took three weeks for the Marshals to find the broken unit in the back of a flatbed truck that had been making a delivery to Maryland. Neal was listed as an escaped fugitive.”
Ahhh. “That’s why he didn’t want to give us his name.”
“And that’s why running his prints would have been disastrous. It would have triggered a hell of a lot of alarms in the system. When it comes to Caffrey, the Marshals have a hard time being reasonable. They probably would have shipped him back to prison regardless of his condition, claiming that he’d set the whole thing up.”
Burke grabbed her arm. Olivia should have shaken him off, but the anguish in his eyes stopped her. “You have to promise me that no one knows who the man in that hospital room really is.”
“Is he dangerous?”
“No, Neal’s not violent, not in the least. He’s a con man. He was a con man. He’d gone straight.”
Burke didn’t seem like a man who’d be fooled too easily, and she trusted him. “Okay, you have my word. Until you tell me otherwise, the only name in my report is Danny Brooks. Will the Marshals have a flag on that identity?”
Burke actually laughed. “After all this time, it’s doubtful.”
Olivia had no idea what he meant by that, but there were a lot of questions she had that she still needed answers for.
Tags:
- character: clinton jones,
- character: diana berrigan,
- character: elizabeth burke,
- character: june ellington,
- character: mozzie,
- character: neal caffrey,
- character: ofc,
- character: olivia benson,
- character: omc,
- character: peter burke,
- character: theo berrigan,
- crossover: law and order: svu,
- genre: abuse,
- genre: angst,
- genre: emotional trauma,
- genre: friendship,
- genre: future fic,
- genre: hurt/comfort,
- genre: violence,
- pairing: peter/elizabeth,
- type: fan fiction,
- type: longfic,
- wc verse: return and rebuild,
- white collar,
- year: 2014
