elrhiarhodan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
elrhiarhodan) wrote2014-05-22 10:49 am
elrhiarhodan) wrote2014-05-22 10:49 am
Entry 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
White Collar Fic - Return and Rebuild the Desolate Places - Chapter Eight
Title: Return and Rebuild the Desolate Places – Chapter Eight
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 – ~2600
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: Neal wakes up and finds he has allies, some familiar, some unexpected. Peter begins to loosen the hold he has kept on his anger and his grief.
__________________
Previous Chapters: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven |
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 – Saturday Afternoon
“Check and mate.”
“What, that can’t be right. Move your hands away from the board, Suit.”
“Do you think I cheated?”
“You had to!
“No, I didn’t. I played the same gambit that Fisher used to beat Spassky in Game Six.”
Neal wondered if he was dreaming, but as his thoughts became more coherent, as he listened to the two men, he realized that this definitely wasn’t a dream. Nor a nightmare. Or a drugged out delusion. Because no matter how delusional he was, there was no way his imagination would fabricate an argument between Mozzie and Reese Hughes about a chess match.
He turned his head, and yes, it was Moz and Hughes sitting on the opposite sides of one of those rolling hospital tables, and yes, there was a chess board. Neal blinked and as his eyes focused, he could see the black king tipped over.
Mozzie was gesticulating wildly, his voice rising in aggravation. Hughes sat there, shaking his head, pointing out each move, each mistake that Moz had made.
“Guys, guys – maybe you want to tone it down a bit?” Neal found himself smiling as Moz turned to him, a look of incredible joy on his face. “There are sick people here, you know.”
Moz didn’t move at first, and then he moved so quickly that Neal couldn’t even track it. He was at his bedside, a hand hovering over his and Neal reached up, reveling in the warm, dry clasp of his friend’s hand. Neal blinked, trying hard not to cry. Everything hurt, but nothing bothered him.
Hughes was at the other side of the bed, looking down at him, his expression unusually grave. “How are you feeling, son?”
Son. Something deep inside him warmed at that last word, a feeling that despite what had happened to him, things might turn out all right. Neal swallowed and licked at his dry lips before answering. “I think a little better.” This time, that was the truth.
Moz gently squeezed his hand and looked like he was also about to cry.
He had to ask, “How long? How long was I gone?” The few times he’d woken, it had been dark and he couldn’t see out a window and he hadn’t thought to ask the police when they tried to talk to him. But Moz was wearing a heavy scarf and jacket and Hughes had on a turtleneck.
The last time Neal had seen the sky, it had been the height of summer.
Hughes gave him a sad and sympathetic look before replying, “Six months. It’s the end of January now.”
Neal closed his eyes, trying to take in the passage of time and what that had to mean. “I guess I’m in trouble, right? I remember talking to the cops, but they’re not to ones I need to worry about.”
Hughes nodded.
“I didn’t run.” Neal needed to make sure that Hughes knew that.
“I know.”
Neal was clear-headed enough to sense an undercurrent in that simple reply. “I was angry but I didn’t run. I don’t run. You have to believe me.” He knew he was begging and squeezed Mozzie’s hand. Moz squeezed back but didn’t say anything.
“I do, Neal.”
“But other people don’t.”
““The Marshals and the Justice Department are a little … concerned.” There are … other parties … who have looked at your, well, history, and have been skeptical about your disappearance.”
Neal blinked and tried to decode just what Hughes was telling him. “Other parties?”
“The Secret Service.”
Of course, of course. “But not the FBI?” He couldn’t bring himself to ask, “But not Peter?”
Hughes smiled slightly and shook his head. “Your friends know you.”
Moz finally chimed in, “Yes – the people who count knew you didn’t run. I knew you didn’t run.”
Neal had to smile; Moz spoke as if his opinion was the only one that mattered. And to Moz, that was probably true.
Reese asked, “Do you think you’re up to talking with anyone yet?”
Neal sighed and wished he hadn’t when the deep exhalation pulled at the incisions in his chest. “I guess.” It must have been a testament to his returning sensibilities, because he asked, “Do I need an attorney?” That was a stupid question, of course he did.
Moz harrumphed, but didn’t comment. Hughes gave him an appreciative look. “That can be arranged, but if you want, I can be your advocate.”
“Advocate?”
“Not in an official capacity, but if the questioning becomes problematic, I’ll step in.”
Neal let go of Mozzie’s hand and clenched his fists against the rising tide of panic, ignoring the sharp pain from the IV line. “They’re going to be rough on me, aren’t they?”
“Yes, very. And I’m sorry for that.”
Neal relaxed his hands, forcing them flat against the covers. “I’ve been through worse.” He closed his eyes and tried not to remember just what “worse” actually was.
Neal opened his eyes when Hughes asked Moz to give them a few moments alone. Moz made some grumbling comments but was surprisingly compliant. At least until he gave Hughes a dirty look before closing the door behind him.
Hughes loomed over him, but his expression was unreadable to Neal.
“What’s the matter?”
“Their hands were tied, you know.”
“Huh?”
“Peter, the division – they couldn’t use Bureau resources to look for you.”
Butterflies erupted in Neal’s belly at the mention of Peter’s name. But what Hughes was saying didn’t make sense. “Peter’s in D.C. – I’m not his responsibility anymore. And I wouldn’t expect …” A memory of something caught him by surprise, but it was too fleeting to decipher.
“Neal, Peter didn’t go to Washington.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He was –” Hughes pursed his lips, “furious about the Justice Department’s refusal to commute your sentence. He told them that he didn’t want a position where he’d need to make decisions about people’s lives based on numbers and statistics.” Hughes laughed. “Basically, he very politely told them to take the job and shove it.”
Neal wasn’t sure what to think, to feel.
“You have to understand that Peter was told that he couldn’t look for you – if he did, it would mean more than his badge. He’d be charged with interfering in a fugitive investigation and he’d face serious criminal charges. He and the entire team would.”
“I see.” He didn’t, not really. There was just too much to take in.
Hughes didn’t seem to notice his confusion, he just kept talking – dropping bombshell after bombshell. “That didn’t stop him – you realize that, right?”
Neal nodded, only because the gesture seemed appropriate.
“Like I said, his hands were tied but he did what he could, unofficially. Peter went back through old cases, talked to a lot of people that were sent to prison because of you. He even went back to the MCC to speak with Rachel Turner before they shipped her off to Colorado.”
That was something that Neal could latch onto. “She wasn’t involved in this.”
“We know that now.” Hughes finally went silent, as if he wanted Neal to pick up the threads of the conversation.
Neal wasn’t sure he could. There was one question he so desperately wanted to ask, but he couldn’t seem to get the words out.
Hughes finally took mercy on him. “Peter can’t talk to you yet. No one from White Collar can.”
“Why?” Hughes didn’t answer and Neal thought about it. “Ah.” The light dawned. But he still felt hurt and abandoned.
“Yes, ‘ah.’ They are too close to you and, well, the Justice Department is concerned about anything that might be shared at this point. I’m sure they’ll be allowed to see you after the initial interviews.”
“But what about you?”
“What about me? I’m retired, a private citizen. I have no influence over anyone.”
Neal wasn’t sure if that was a smirk on Hughes’ lips, but there was definitely a twinkle in the old man’s eyes. “Thank you.”
“I’m glad to help.”
“As a ‘private citizen’, can you answer a few questions?”
“I can try.”
“You said the Secret Service wants to talk to me, so they know about the counterfeits, right?”
“Yes.”
“Thank god.” Neal had to add, “I tried to fuck the plates up – but they had a guy, he was good at finding mistakes and making me redo them. I had to be very subtle. Maybe I was too subtle.” He thought about the message he buried, knowing the odds of it being discovered where almost infinitesimally small.
“Neal, it’s probably best if you save this for the interview.” Hughes’ tone was gentle, but firm.
Yeah, probably. “When are they going to be here?”
“If you’re up to it, within the hour.”
Neal tried to make a joke. “Just enough time for Moz to get me out of here.”
His humor fell flat. “Caffrey – don’t even joke about escaping. There’s a Marshal on the door now.”
“So, if I try to leave, I’ll be shot on sight?”
When Hughes didn’t respond, Neal had to laugh. “Jeez. Seriously?”
That earned him a smile and a gentle pat on the shoulder. “I should go rescue the poor woman. I’m sure your friend has driven her crazy by now.”
Neal caught a glimpse of Moz gesturing at a tall woman in a navy windbreaker as Hughes opened the door. He thought he saw someone else there, too. Tall, broad shoulders, rangy build. But the door closed, blocking his view.
It was probably just wishful thinking.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
“I thought I told you to stay away from Caffrey.”
Peter hadn’t heard Bruce approach; his attention was focused on the door to Neal’s room. It remained firmly closed and guarded by a Marshal with a firearm on display. “I haven’t spoken with him.”
“But you’re here.”
“I’m keeping an eye out for him.”
“Peter…” Bruce’s tone was one of utter exasperation. “I’m only trying to protect you; that’s why I came up from D.C. You seem intent on sacrificing your career for this man.”
Peter turned, intending to give his boss a stinging rebuke, but was surprised by the compassion in the man’s eyes. He moderated his tone, but didn’t change the message. “I’m not sacrificing anything. I’m doing what’s right.”
Bruce was quiet for a moment and Peter went back to watching the door.
“I guess I owe you an apology.”
“No, you and the Bureau owe Neal Caffrey an apology.” Peter wasn’t prepared to budge on that point.
“This is not the Bureau’s fault.”
“No?” Peter felt his temper rising. “When his tracker was cut, the Bureau washed its hands of Neal, shoved the mess onto the Marshals, who did a half-assed job of looking for him.” He didn’t give Bruce a chance to offer a rebuttal. “I know – to the exact extent – what the Marshals’ ‘manhunt’ consisted of: BOLOs circulated to Interpol, wanted posters at the airports, flags on passports with known aliases. No one ever considered that Neal’s disappearance was involuntary and no one followed any leads.”
“Damn it, Peter – Neal Caffrey has a history of running. You, of all people, should know that. Hell, he cut his anklet and skipped off to Cape Verde when it looked like his commutation wasn’t going to go through. That’s why we wouldn’t release him in the first place.”
Peter clenched his fists. It wouldn’t do him – or Neal – any good to tell Bruce that he’d told Neal to run that day. “You should have trusted my word, Bruce. That should have been good enough. I’ve worked with Neal for three years; I know what he’d do and when he’d do it.”
“There was no evidence of foul play, Peter. Neal Caffrey disappeared without a trace. Where were we supposed to look?”
Peter wasn’t going to have this conversation in such a public space. He stormed off – heading to the small waiting room at the end of the hall. Bruce, thankfully, followed and closed the door behind them.
He counted to ten before he spoke. The agent in him knew that any further display of anger was going to go badly for him. “Where were we supposed to look? We’re the damn FBI, we look everywhere. And don’t you dare say there wasn’t any evidence. There was evidence – we had traffic camera video. A white van was stopped a half-block from Neal’s last known location. The camera even caught Neal in the frame a few seconds before that van disappeared. We even had a license plate. I gave the Marshals that information personally three days after Neal disappeared, and they didn’t bother to follow up. NYPD were kind enough to give me the video of the van that they think Neal was dumped from five days ago. Turns out that it’s same make and model. Same crease along the back fender, too.”
“Peter – ” Bruce held up a hand, trying to calm him.
He wasn’t having any of it. “You want to know something interesting about Manhattan? It’s a fucking island and it’s kind of hard to get off it without crossing a bridge or going through a tunnel. And guess what? Every damn one of them has cameras on them now. We could have tracked that van, maybe found Neal before those animals raped and tortured him.”
Peter swallowed the rest of his rage and went over to the small, dirt-encrusted window. It was snowing again.
He took a deep breath before continuing. “I don’t know if we would have found Neal, but damn it – we could have tried. You should have trusted me.” Peter didn’t care that he was repeating himself. He didn’t care that he sounded like he was ready to break. That’s what he felt like.
“You blame yourself for what happened to Caffrey?”
“Neal. His name is Neal. And yes, I do.”
“I don’t know what to say, Peter.” Bruce shook his head, appearing regretful for the first time in this whole debacle.
Some of his anger dissipated. “There’s nothing to say at this point, Bruce.”
“I don’t suppose that there’s anything I could do to keep you out of this investigation? To let the Marshals and the Treasury Department handle it from here?”
“No. I’m not letting go of this. I can’t trust anyone to handle this right. Treasury is going to put their resources into the counterfeiting operation – they don’t care what happens to Neal. And the Marshals – ” Peter didn’t want to go there.
“Peter, please – you’re too close to this. Do I have to remind you how the Bureau frowns upon such close relationships with CIs? After Connolly and Bulger –”
The rage came back, ten-fold. “Funny, when Neal and I were closing cases right and left, solving the unsolvable, the Bureau had no ‘issue’ with us. And despite the noise the U.S. Attorney made about Cape Verde, we both know why they turned down my request. Neal was too damn valuable an asset to let go of a moment early.”
Bruce scrubbed his face. “I know, and I am sorry.”
Peter still couldn’t let it go. “Don’t you wonder at why they did what they did to Neal? Why they tortured him?” He didn’t wait for Bruce to answer. “Because he wouldn’t give them what they wanted. He was doing the right thing and just about paid for it with his life. He may have paid for it with his sanity.”
He walked out, leaving Bruce standing there. The small room felt too confining for his anger. He couldn’t breathe in the sterile blandness.
TO BE CONTINUED
Go to Chapter Nine
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 – ~2600
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: Neal wakes up and finds he has allies, some familiar, some unexpected. Peter begins to loosen the hold he has kept on his anger and his grief.
Previous Chapters: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven |
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 – Saturday Afternoon
“Check and mate.”
“What, that can’t be right. Move your hands away from the board, Suit.”
“Do you think I cheated?”
“You had to!
“No, I didn’t. I played the same gambit that Fisher used to beat Spassky in Game Six.”
Neal wondered if he was dreaming, but as his thoughts became more coherent, as he listened to the two men, he realized that this definitely wasn’t a dream. Nor a nightmare. Or a drugged out delusion. Because no matter how delusional he was, there was no way his imagination would fabricate an argument between Mozzie and Reese Hughes about a chess match.
He turned his head, and yes, it was Moz and Hughes sitting on the opposite sides of one of those rolling hospital tables, and yes, there was a chess board. Neal blinked and as his eyes focused, he could see the black king tipped over.
Mozzie was gesticulating wildly, his voice rising in aggravation. Hughes sat there, shaking his head, pointing out each move, each mistake that Moz had made.
“Guys, guys – maybe you want to tone it down a bit?” Neal found himself smiling as Moz turned to him, a look of incredible joy on his face. “There are sick people here, you know.”
Moz didn’t move at first, and then he moved so quickly that Neal couldn’t even track it. He was at his bedside, a hand hovering over his and Neal reached up, reveling in the warm, dry clasp of his friend’s hand. Neal blinked, trying hard not to cry. Everything hurt, but nothing bothered him.
Hughes was at the other side of the bed, looking down at him, his expression unusually grave. “How are you feeling, son?”
Son. Something deep inside him warmed at that last word, a feeling that despite what had happened to him, things might turn out all right. Neal swallowed and licked at his dry lips before answering. “I think a little better.” This time, that was the truth.
Moz gently squeezed his hand and looked like he was also about to cry.
He had to ask, “How long? How long was I gone?” The few times he’d woken, it had been dark and he couldn’t see out a window and he hadn’t thought to ask the police when they tried to talk to him. But Moz was wearing a heavy scarf and jacket and Hughes had on a turtleneck.
The last time Neal had seen the sky, it had been the height of summer.
Hughes gave him a sad and sympathetic look before replying, “Six months. It’s the end of January now.”
Neal closed his eyes, trying to take in the passage of time and what that had to mean. “I guess I’m in trouble, right? I remember talking to the cops, but they’re not to ones I need to worry about.”
Hughes nodded.
“I didn’t run.” Neal needed to make sure that Hughes knew that.
“I know.”
Neal was clear-headed enough to sense an undercurrent in that simple reply. “I was angry but I didn’t run. I don’t run. You have to believe me.” He knew he was begging and squeezed Mozzie’s hand. Moz squeezed back but didn’t say anything.
“I do, Neal.”
“But other people don’t.”
““The Marshals and the Justice Department are a little … concerned.” There are … other parties … who have looked at your, well, history, and have been skeptical about your disappearance.”
Neal blinked and tried to decode just what Hughes was telling him. “Other parties?”
“The Secret Service.”
Of course, of course. “But not the FBI?” He couldn’t bring himself to ask, “But not Peter?”
Hughes smiled slightly and shook his head. “Your friends know you.”
Moz finally chimed in, “Yes – the people who count knew you didn’t run. I knew you didn’t run.”
Neal had to smile; Moz spoke as if his opinion was the only one that mattered. And to Moz, that was probably true.
Reese asked, “Do you think you’re up to talking with anyone yet?”
Neal sighed and wished he hadn’t when the deep exhalation pulled at the incisions in his chest. “I guess.” It must have been a testament to his returning sensibilities, because he asked, “Do I need an attorney?” That was a stupid question, of course he did.
Moz harrumphed, but didn’t comment. Hughes gave him an appreciative look. “That can be arranged, but if you want, I can be your advocate.”
“Advocate?”
“Not in an official capacity, but if the questioning becomes problematic, I’ll step in.”
Neal let go of Mozzie’s hand and clenched his fists against the rising tide of panic, ignoring the sharp pain from the IV line. “They’re going to be rough on me, aren’t they?”
“Yes, very. And I’m sorry for that.”
Neal relaxed his hands, forcing them flat against the covers. “I’ve been through worse.” He closed his eyes and tried not to remember just what “worse” actually was.
Neal opened his eyes when Hughes asked Moz to give them a few moments alone. Moz made some grumbling comments but was surprisingly compliant. At least until he gave Hughes a dirty look before closing the door behind him.
Hughes loomed over him, but his expression was unreadable to Neal.
“What’s the matter?”
“Their hands were tied, you know.”
“Huh?”
“Peter, the division – they couldn’t use Bureau resources to look for you.”
Butterflies erupted in Neal’s belly at the mention of Peter’s name. But what Hughes was saying didn’t make sense. “Peter’s in D.C. – I’m not his responsibility anymore. And I wouldn’t expect …” A memory of something caught him by surprise, but it was too fleeting to decipher.
“Neal, Peter didn’t go to Washington.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He was –” Hughes pursed his lips, “furious about the Justice Department’s refusal to commute your sentence. He told them that he didn’t want a position where he’d need to make decisions about people’s lives based on numbers and statistics.” Hughes laughed. “Basically, he very politely told them to take the job and shove it.”
Neal wasn’t sure what to think, to feel.
“You have to understand that Peter was told that he couldn’t look for you – if he did, it would mean more than his badge. He’d be charged with interfering in a fugitive investigation and he’d face serious criminal charges. He and the entire team would.”
“I see.” He didn’t, not really. There was just too much to take in.
Hughes didn’t seem to notice his confusion, he just kept talking – dropping bombshell after bombshell. “That didn’t stop him – you realize that, right?”
Neal nodded, only because the gesture seemed appropriate.
“Like I said, his hands were tied but he did what he could, unofficially. Peter went back through old cases, talked to a lot of people that were sent to prison because of you. He even went back to the MCC to speak with Rachel Turner before they shipped her off to Colorado.”
That was something that Neal could latch onto. “She wasn’t involved in this.”
“We know that now.” Hughes finally went silent, as if he wanted Neal to pick up the threads of the conversation.
Neal wasn’t sure he could. There was one question he so desperately wanted to ask, but he couldn’t seem to get the words out.
Hughes finally took mercy on him. “Peter can’t talk to you yet. No one from White Collar can.”
“Why?” Hughes didn’t answer and Neal thought about it. “Ah.” The light dawned. But he still felt hurt and abandoned.
“Yes, ‘ah.’ They are too close to you and, well, the Justice Department is concerned about anything that might be shared at this point. I’m sure they’ll be allowed to see you after the initial interviews.”
“But what about you?”
“What about me? I’m retired, a private citizen. I have no influence over anyone.”
Neal wasn’t sure if that was a smirk on Hughes’ lips, but there was definitely a twinkle in the old man’s eyes. “Thank you.”
“I’m glad to help.”
“As a ‘private citizen’, can you answer a few questions?”
“I can try.”
“You said the Secret Service wants to talk to me, so they know about the counterfeits, right?”
“Yes.”
“Thank god.” Neal had to add, “I tried to fuck the plates up – but they had a guy, he was good at finding mistakes and making me redo them. I had to be very subtle. Maybe I was too subtle.” He thought about the message he buried, knowing the odds of it being discovered where almost infinitesimally small.
“Neal, it’s probably best if you save this for the interview.” Hughes’ tone was gentle, but firm.
Yeah, probably. “When are they going to be here?”
“If you’re up to it, within the hour.”
Neal tried to make a joke. “Just enough time for Moz to get me out of here.”
His humor fell flat. “Caffrey – don’t even joke about escaping. There’s a Marshal on the door now.”
“So, if I try to leave, I’ll be shot on sight?”
When Hughes didn’t respond, Neal had to laugh. “Jeez. Seriously?”
That earned him a smile and a gentle pat on the shoulder. “I should go rescue the poor woman. I’m sure your friend has driven her crazy by now.”
Neal caught a glimpse of Moz gesturing at a tall woman in a navy windbreaker as Hughes opened the door. He thought he saw someone else there, too. Tall, broad shoulders, rangy build. But the door closed, blocking his view.
It was probably just wishful thinking.
“I thought I told you to stay away from Caffrey.”
Peter hadn’t heard Bruce approach; his attention was focused on the door to Neal’s room. It remained firmly closed and guarded by a Marshal with a firearm on display. “I haven’t spoken with him.”
“But you’re here.”
“I’m keeping an eye out for him.”
“Peter…” Bruce’s tone was one of utter exasperation. “I’m only trying to protect you; that’s why I came up from D.C. You seem intent on sacrificing your career for this man.”
Peter turned, intending to give his boss a stinging rebuke, but was surprised by the compassion in the man’s eyes. He moderated his tone, but didn’t change the message. “I’m not sacrificing anything. I’m doing what’s right.”
Bruce was quiet for a moment and Peter went back to watching the door.
“I guess I owe you an apology.”
“No, you and the Bureau owe Neal Caffrey an apology.” Peter wasn’t prepared to budge on that point.
“This is not the Bureau’s fault.”
“No?” Peter felt his temper rising. “When his tracker was cut, the Bureau washed its hands of Neal, shoved the mess onto the Marshals, who did a half-assed job of looking for him.” He didn’t give Bruce a chance to offer a rebuttal. “I know – to the exact extent – what the Marshals’ ‘manhunt’ consisted of: BOLOs circulated to Interpol, wanted posters at the airports, flags on passports with known aliases. No one ever considered that Neal’s disappearance was involuntary and no one followed any leads.”
“Damn it, Peter – Neal Caffrey has a history of running. You, of all people, should know that. Hell, he cut his anklet and skipped off to Cape Verde when it looked like his commutation wasn’t going to go through. That’s why we wouldn’t release him in the first place.”
Peter clenched his fists. It wouldn’t do him – or Neal – any good to tell Bruce that he’d told Neal to run that day. “You should have trusted my word, Bruce. That should have been good enough. I’ve worked with Neal for three years; I know what he’d do and when he’d do it.”
“There was no evidence of foul play, Peter. Neal Caffrey disappeared without a trace. Where were we supposed to look?”
Peter wasn’t going to have this conversation in such a public space. He stormed off – heading to the small waiting room at the end of the hall. Bruce, thankfully, followed and closed the door behind them.
He counted to ten before he spoke. The agent in him knew that any further display of anger was going to go badly for him. “Where were we supposed to look? We’re the damn FBI, we look everywhere. And don’t you dare say there wasn’t any evidence. There was evidence – we had traffic camera video. A white van was stopped a half-block from Neal’s last known location. The camera even caught Neal in the frame a few seconds before that van disappeared. We even had a license plate. I gave the Marshals that information personally three days after Neal disappeared, and they didn’t bother to follow up. NYPD were kind enough to give me the video of the van that they think Neal was dumped from five days ago. Turns out that it’s same make and model. Same crease along the back fender, too.”
“Peter – ” Bruce held up a hand, trying to calm him.
He wasn’t having any of it. “You want to know something interesting about Manhattan? It’s a fucking island and it’s kind of hard to get off it without crossing a bridge or going through a tunnel. And guess what? Every damn one of them has cameras on them now. We could have tracked that van, maybe found Neal before those animals raped and tortured him.”
Peter swallowed the rest of his rage and went over to the small, dirt-encrusted window. It was snowing again.
He took a deep breath before continuing. “I don’t know if we would have found Neal, but damn it – we could have tried. You should have trusted me.” Peter didn’t care that he was repeating himself. He didn’t care that he sounded like he was ready to break. That’s what he felt like.
“You blame yourself for what happened to Caffrey?”
“Neal. His name is Neal. And yes, I do.”
“I don’t know what to say, Peter.” Bruce shook his head, appearing regretful for the first time in this whole debacle.
Some of his anger dissipated. “There’s nothing to say at this point, Bruce.”
“I don’t suppose that there’s anything I could do to keep you out of this investigation? To let the Marshals and the Treasury Department handle it from here?”
“No. I’m not letting go of this. I can’t trust anyone to handle this right. Treasury is going to put their resources into the counterfeiting operation – they don’t care what happens to Neal. And the Marshals – ” Peter didn’t want to go there.
“Peter, please – you’re too close to this. Do I have to remind you how the Bureau frowns upon such close relationships with CIs? After Connolly and Bulger –”
The rage came back, ten-fold. “Funny, when Neal and I were closing cases right and left, solving the unsolvable, the Bureau had no ‘issue’ with us. And despite the noise the U.S. Attorney made about Cape Verde, we both know why they turned down my request. Neal was too damn valuable an asset to let go of a moment early.”
Bruce scrubbed his face. “I know, and I am sorry.”
Peter still couldn’t let it go. “Don’t you wonder at why they did what they did to Neal? Why they tortured him?” He didn’t wait for Bruce to answer. “Because he wouldn’t give them what they wanted. He was doing the right thing and just about paid for it with his life. He may have paid for it with his sanity.”
He walked out, leaving Bruce standing there. The small room felt too confining for his anger. He couldn’t breathe in the sterile blandness.
Go to Chapter Nine
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*Sigh*
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I'm such a bad bear!
Thank you Elr!