![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elrhiarhodanTitle: Return and Rebuild the Desolate Places – Chapter Eleven
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 – ~2,100
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’s recovery is slow. Visitors come by, some with welcome news, others – not welcome.
__________________
Previous Chapters: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten
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 – Monday, Late Afternoon
Neal was exhausted. He’d been up and walking – to the end of the hall and back, not once, not twice, but three times, the Marshal on duty trailing him and the aide as if he was going to make a break for it with a catheter, three IV bags and wearing nothing more than a hospital gown and a pair of no-skid socks. He’d had a session with the respiratory therapist, who was concerned about the lack of the progress he was making. It was still too hard to breathe and everything hurt too damned much. The doctors poked and prodded at him, and while they still wouldn’t meet his eyes, Neal decided it was because they were socially inept with no bedside manners, and not because he was a damn victim.
But at least Moz had come by with June, who brought a container of homemade chicken soup and matzoh balls. The broth was rich and salty and tasted like the dreams of his childhood. He finished every last drop of the small cup he was allowed to have, giving a satisfied sigh.
June didn’t stay long, too aware of how easily he tired. But she was quick to assure him that her home was still his home, and always would be, no matter what. They hadn’t talked about what had happened to him and he wasn’t sure how much Moz had shared, but of all the people in his life, she was the last person he wanted to be burdened with the details of his ordeal.
After June left, his friend produced a small silver pastry box.
“Mozzie, you didn’t?” Emotions were too close to the surface these days and he felt himself starting to tear up.
“Can the waterworks, Caffrey – they’re just cronuts. Nothing to cry over.”
“How long did you wait on line?”
Mozzie shrugged, then grinned at him. “I might have waited. I might not have waited. Does it really matter?”
“I guess not.” In truth, he was full from the soup and while there was the possibility that someone might filch the pastries, he’d save them for later.
Mozzie settled himself into the recliner next to the bed and took out a book. Neal let the wave of exhaustion wash over him and he closed his eyes, easily falling into a dreamless sleep.
The sound of softly arguing voices woke him, but Neal didn’t open his eyes. The dichotomy between the sense of safety and the level of strain he could hear made him cautious. He played possum for a few moments, until he recognized the voices, even though he couldn’t make out the words. It was Moz and Elizabeth.
Finally, he spoke, “El?”
She turned and smiled at him, and even in his half-awake state, Neal could tell that something was wrong.
“Hey there.” She had her hands shoved in her coat pockets and made no move to come any closer.
He pressed a button and the bed inclined, but his pillow slipped to the floor. As he made a move to reach for it, his stitches pulled and he hissed in pain. Both El and Moz stepped in to help. Neal pretended not to notice the silent communication between them. Moz got him settled and comfortable, gave El another speaking look and left, muttering something about needing to make sure the Marshal at the door hadn’t fallen asleep.
He smiled, trying to put Elizabeth at ease, but he failed. Her misery became more and more evident with every passing second.
“I’m going to be fine, Elizabeth.” He held out a hand to her. She didn’t take it and stood there, next to his bed, sorrow and strain clouding her eyes.
“Neal – ” The way she said his name made him want to cry.
“Elizabeth, please don’t cry. I’ll be all right.”
She shook her head. “I’m so sorry, Neal. So sorry.”
He reached out again, this time grabbing her wrist. She turned her hand and their palms met. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry about.”
“No, I do.” She tried to withdraw her hand, but Neal wouldn’t let go. “Please, Neal.”
He smiled again, the masks falling into place. “Talk to me, tell me what’s going on.”
“I thought you ran.”
Her words shouldn’t have hurt, but they did. Neal opened his mouth to say something, anything, but he couldn’t fill the dead air between them. He kept his grip on her hand, though. Elizabeth, her warmth, her friendship, her compassion, had been a dream during those nightmare months and he wasn’t ready to let her go, not just yet.
“I thought you ran and I was glad. You deserved your freedom and I thought you’d taken the chance.”
Neal could understand that, maybe. It still hurt, but seeing Elizabeth’s pain hurt worse. “It’s okay, it’s not like I hadn’t run before, when the going got rough.”
She laughed, but the sound was bitter and unpleasant. “After everything, you’re the one comforting me? That’s not right.”
“Elizabeth – what happened, happened. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.” He heard the words he was saying, and an echo of his voice shouting those words, other words.
“I know – it’s easy to say but it’s harder to believe.”
Her reply snapped him back to the here and now. He couldn’t understand why she was torturing herself like this and he had the feeling that no matter what he said, it would only make things worse. Wanting to keep Elizabeth from fleeing, Neal changed the subject. “You must have been disappointed to have to turn down the job at the National Gallery.”
She dropped her head, her expression even more miserable, if possible. “I didn’t turn it down. I’ve been in D.C. Didn’t anyone tell you?”
Neal had a hard time wrapping his brain around the idea of Peter and Elizabeth not being together, and just blurted out, “You left Peter?”
She bit her lip and didn’t look at him. This time, when she tried to pull her hand from his, he let go. “It’s not like I’ve left him. I come back to New York when I can. Peter comes down to D.C. when he can. We’re very – ” She paused, searching for an adjective, “modern. It’s really not that much different from when Peter and I were starting out and he was on the road, working cases.”
Neal nodded in agreement, even though really he didn’t agree. There was a big difference between being on the road and setting up a household in another city.
“So you like working there?” Neal found that he really didn’t care about her answer, he was too consumed with the idea that Peter had been on his own for the last six months.
Elizabeth talked for a bit, telling him how she was fusing her love of art with her skills as an event planner. They chatted about their favorite exhibits and she shared some tidbits about an upcoming showing of French Impressionists. He made a bad joke about stopping by and picking up a few “souvenirs” which earned him a forced chuckle.
The conversation died away and Neal took a deep breath to ask the question that had been on his mind for days now. “Do you know why Peter hasn’t been here? I haven’t seen him at all. Hughes has told me that I couldn’t see anyone from White Collar until after the Treasury agents interviewed me, but that happened on Saturday. Clinton and Diana have been in, I even spoke to Peter’s boss, but Peter hasn’t visited. I asked Moz, but he couldn’t tell me anything, do you know why?” He hated the querulous, needy quality of his voice, but he didn’t have the emotional wherewithal to pretend that Peter’s absence didn’t hurt.
Elizabeth shook her head; the expression on her face was both surprised and concerned. “I don’t know. I can’t imagine why he hasn’t been in. He was so desperately worried about you since you – ” She swallowed hard, “disappeared. It consumed him. I had no idea that he hadn’t seen you.” She didn’t meet his eyes and kept looking at the door; as if she was hoping that someone would come in and interrupt them.
Once upon a time, Elizabeth might have run her fingers through his curls, comforted him and called him sweetie. Now it seemed like she couldn’t wait to escape this room.
Neal took pity on her. “You probably need to get back to D.C. Moz said something about another big snowstorm tonight, and it would be awful to get stuck on the train.”
El knew exactly what he was doing and gave him a grateful smile. “Yeah, that would be a good idea.” The polite fictions continued, “I hate leaving you, though.”
As limited as his physical and emotional resources were, Neal found it easier to fall back on his own white lies. “I’ll be fine. Moz is here, and Reese will be coming by tonight. The doctors are pleased with my progress and they even made some noises about letting me out of here. Go, get yourself back to D.C. I’ll be fine.” Neal repeated, almost convinced of the truth.
El smiled, but it sort of crumpled when she closed the distance between them. She offered another needless apology, but finally bent over and kissed his cheek, resting there for a second, a millennium, before rushing out of the room.
Neal watched the space between the door and the wall, trying to get a glimpse of the outside world, but his view was blocked by the blue-jacketed back of the Marshal standing guard.
He wished …
He didn’t really know what he wished for anymore. Once upon a time, in another life, freedom was all he wanted and it was a simple dream. No tracker, no handler, no endless longing for a different skyline, a different sunset. That dream ended with a black pillowcase dropped over his head and a six month trip through the inner circles of Hell.
Actually, there was something he wanted, desperately. He wanted Peter, to talk to him, to tell him everything that happened, to make him understand that he hadn’t run. He couldn’t really talk to Moz or June or Reese. And telling the doctors and the police offered no surcease. He needed Peter and he couldn’t understand why Peter wasn’t here.
Neal tried to relax, telling himself that even though Peter was in New York, not D.C., he was busy and couldn’t just drop everything to be at his side. Hughes had said that no one from White Collar was supposed to see him until the Feds had interviewed him, so maybe that was it.
But that didn’t explain why Diana and Clinton came in right after the interview was over. If they could see him, why couldn’t Peter? Maybe Peter was in trouble? Maybe his disappearance had caused more problems that anyone would let on.
His thoughts went around and around, spiraling ever darker.
“Neal? You okay?”
Neal blinked and recoiled, he hadn’t heard anyone come into the room. It was the cop, Benson.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I was in the hospital and thought I’d stop by, see how you were doing.”
He shrugged. “Okay – I guess. The doctors are pleased with my progress.”
She pulled up a chair and sat down, like she was settling in for a cozy conversation. “Did they tell you when you’ll be able get out of here?”
“Yeah, maybe Thursday or Friday. They’re concerned about infection, about my breathing, but if I continue to improve, they’ll spring me.”
“Do you have a place to go?”
“Yeah – my apartment’s still there.” He tried not to think about the awful possibility that he’d be taken back to prison or put into some secure facility. Hughes hadn’t said anything about it, but there was still a Marshal watching, and Neal was pretty sure it wasn’t for his protection.
“Do you have someone to look after you?”
Neal raised an eyebrow at the cop’s almost relentless concern. “Yes, I do. I do have friends.” He tried not to think about Peter. Tried and failed.
“Yes, you do. Good ones. You’re lucky.”
“I know.”
Benson had an odd and almost regretful expression on her face. She looked like there was something she wanted to tell him. Instead, her lips twisted into a smile and she abruptly stood up. “We’ll be in touch.”
Neal had to ask, “Do you think you’ll catch the people who did this?”
“We’re pursuing a number of leads.”
“In other words, you don’t have a clue, do you?”
“No, in other words, it’s an active investigation, and you should know I can’t discuss the details – not even with you.”
“Yeah, I get that.” And even though he knew his anger was unreasonable, he couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.
Benson paused, again like she wanted to tell him something.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She gave him another rueful smile and left.
Neal wished he could do the same.
TO BE CONTINUED
GO TO CHAPTER TWELVE
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 – ~2,100
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’s recovery is slow. Visitors come by, some with welcome news, others – not welcome.
Previous Chapters: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten
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 – Monday, Late Afternoon
Neal was exhausted. He’d been up and walking – to the end of the hall and back, not once, not twice, but three times, the Marshal on duty trailing him and the aide as if he was going to make a break for it with a catheter, three IV bags and wearing nothing more than a hospital gown and a pair of no-skid socks. He’d had a session with the respiratory therapist, who was concerned about the lack of the progress he was making. It was still too hard to breathe and everything hurt too damned much. The doctors poked and prodded at him, and while they still wouldn’t meet his eyes, Neal decided it was because they were socially inept with no bedside manners, and not because he was a damn victim.
But at least Moz had come by with June, who brought a container of homemade chicken soup and matzoh balls. The broth was rich and salty and tasted like the dreams of his childhood. He finished every last drop of the small cup he was allowed to have, giving a satisfied sigh.
June didn’t stay long, too aware of how easily he tired. But she was quick to assure him that her home was still his home, and always would be, no matter what. They hadn’t talked about what had happened to him and he wasn’t sure how much Moz had shared, but of all the people in his life, she was the last person he wanted to be burdened with the details of his ordeal.
After June left, his friend produced a small silver pastry box.
“Mozzie, you didn’t?” Emotions were too close to the surface these days and he felt himself starting to tear up.
“Can the waterworks, Caffrey – they’re just cronuts. Nothing to cry over.”
“How long did you wait on line?”
Mozzie shrugged, then grinned at him. “I might have waited. I might not have waited. Does it really matter?”
“I guess not.” In truth, he was full from the soup and while there was the possibility that someone might filch the pastries, he’d save them for later.
Mozzie settled himself into the recliner next to the bed and took out a book. Neal let the wave of exhaustion wash over him and he closed his eyes, easily falling into a dreamless sleep.
The sound of softly arguing voices woke him, but Neal didn’t open his eyes. The dichotomy between the sense of safety and the level of strain he could hear made him cautious. He played possum for a few moments, until he recognized the voices, even though he couldn’t make out the words. It was Moz and Elizabeth.
Finally, he spoke, “El?”
She turned and smiled at him, and even in his half-awake state, Neal could tell that something was wrong.
“Hey there.” She had her hands shoved in her coat pockets and made no move to come any closer.
He pressed a button and the bed inclined, but his pillow slipped to the floor. As he made a move to reach for it, his stitches pulled and he hissed in pain. Both El and Moz stepped in to help. Neal pretended not to notice the silent communication between them. Moz got him settled and comfortable, gave El another speaking look and left, muttering something about needing to make sure the Marshal at the door hadn’t fallen asleep.
He smiled, trying to put Elizabeth at ease, but he failed. Her misery became more and more evident with every passing second.
“I’m going to be fine, Elizabeth.” He held out a hand to her. She didn’t take it and stood there, next to his bed, sorrow and strain clouding her eyes.
“Neal – ” The way she said his name made him want to cry.
“Elizabeth, please don’t cry. I’ll be all right.”
She shook her head. “I’m so sorry, Neal. So sorry.”
He reached out again, this time grabbing her wrist. She turned her hand and their palms met. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry about.”
“No, I do.” She tried to withdraw her hand, but Neal wouldn’t let go. “Please, Neal.”
He smiled again, the masks falling into place. “Talk to me, tell me what’s going on.”
“I thought you ran.”
Her words shouldn’t have hurt, but they did. Neal opened his mouth to say something, anything, but he couldn’t fill the dead air between them. He kept his grip on her hand, though. Elizabeth, her warmth, her friendship, her compassion, had been a dream during those nightmare months and he wasn’t ready to let her go, not just yet.
“I thought you ran and I was glad. You deserved your freedom and I thought you’d taken the chance.”
Neal could understand that, maybe. It still hurt, but seeing Elizabeth’s pain hurt worse. “It’s okay, it’s not like I hadn’t run before, when the going got rough.”
She laughed, but the sound was bitter and unpleasant. “After everything, you’re the one comforting me? That’s not right.”
“Elizabeth – what happened, happened. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.” He heard the words he was saying, and an echo of his voice shouting those words, other words.
“I know – it’s easy to say but it’s harder to believe.”
Her reply snapped him back to the here and now. He couldn’t understand why she was torturing herself like this and he had the feeling that no matter what he said, it would only make things worse. Wanting to keep Elizabeth from fleeing, Neal changed the subject. “You must have been disappointed to have to turn down the job at the National Gallery.”
She dropped her head, her expression even more miserable, if possible. “I didn’t turn it down. I’ve been in D.C. Didn’t anyone tell you?”
Neal had a hard time wrapping his brain around the idea of Peter and Elizabeth not being together, and just blurted out, “You left Peter?”
She bit her lip and didn’t look at him. This time, when she tried to pull her hand from his, he let go. “It’s not like I’ve left him. I come back to New York when I can. Peter comes down to D.C. when he can. We’re very – ” She paused, searching for an adjective, “modern. It’s really not that much different from when Peter and I were starting out and he was on the road, working cases.”
Neal nodded in agreement, even though really he didn’t agree. There was a big difference between being on the road and setting up a household in another city.
“So you like working there?” Neal found that he really didn’t care about her answer, he was too consumed with the idea that Peter had been on his own for the last six months.
Elizabeth talked for a bit, telling him how she was fusing her love of art with her skills as an event planner. They chatted about their favorite exhibits and she shared some tidbits about an upcoming showing of French Impressionists. He made a bad joke about stopping by and picking up a few “souvenirs” which earned him a forced chuckle.
The conversation died away and Neal took a deep breath to ask the question that had been on his mind for days now. “Do you know why Peter hasn’t been here? I haven’t seen him at all. Hughes has told me that I couldn’t see anyone from White Collar until after the Treasury agents interviewed me, but that happened on Saturday. Clinton and Diana have been in, I even spoke to Peter’s boss, but Peter hasn’t visited. I asked Moz, but he couldn’t tell me anything, do you know why?” He hated the querulous, needy quality of his voice, but he didn’t have the emotional wherewithal to pretend that Peter’s absence didn’t hurt.
Elizabeth shook her head; the expression on her face was both surprised and concerned. “I don’t know. I can’t imagine why he hasn’t been in. He was so desperately worried about you since you – ” She swallowed hard, “disappeared. It consumed him. I had no idea that he hadn’t seen you.” She didn’t meet his eyes and kept looking at the door; as if she was hoping that someone would come in and interrupt them.
Once upon a time, Elizabeth might have run her fingers through his curls, comforted him and called him sweetie. Now it seemed like she couldn’t wait to escape this room.
Neal took pity on her. “You probably need to get back to D.C. Moz said something about another big snowstorm tonight, and it would be awful to get stuck on the train.”
El knew exactly what he was doing and gave him a grateful smile. “Yeah, that would be a good idea.” The polite fictions continued, “I hate leaving you, though.”
As limited as his physical and emotional resources were, Neal found it easier to fall back on his own white lies. “I’ll be fine. Moz is here, and Reese will be coming by tonight. The doctors are pleased with my progress and they even made some noises about letting me out of here. Go, get yourself back to D.C. I’ll be fine.” Neal repeated, almost convinced of the truth.
El smiled, but it sort of crumpled when she closed the distance between them. She offered another needless apology, but finally bent over and kissed his cheek, resting there for a second, a millennium, before rushing out of the room.
Neal watched the space between the door and the wall, trying to get a glimpse of the outside world, but his view was blocked by the blue-jacketed back of the Marshal standing guard.
He wished …
He didn’t really know what he wished for anymore. Once upon a time, in another life, freedom was all he wanted and it was a simple dream. No tracker, no handler, no endless longing for a different skyline, a different sunset. That dream ended with a black pillowcase dropped over his head and a six month trip through the inner circles of Hell.
Actually, there was something he wanted, desperately. He wanted Peter, to talk to him, to tell him everything that happened, to make him understand that he hadn’t run. He couldn’t really talk to Moz or June or Reese. And telling the doctors and the police offered no surcease. He needed Peter and he couldn’t understand why Peter wasn’t here.
Neal tried to relax, telling himself that even though Peter was in New York, not D.C., he was busy and couldn’t just drop everything to be at his side. Hughes had said that no one from White Collar was supposed to see him until the Feds had interviewed him, so maybe that was it.
But that didn’t explain why Diana and Clinton came in right after the interview was over. If they could see him, why couldn’t Peter? Maybe Peter was in trouble? Maybe his disappearance had caused more problems that anyone would let on.
His thoughts went around and around, spiraling ever darker.
“Neal? You okay?”
Neal blinked and recoiled, he hadn’t heard anyone come into the room. It was the cop, Benson.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I was in the hospital and thought I’d stop by, see how you were doing.”
He shrugged. “Okay – I guess. The doctors are pleased with my progress.”
She pulled up a chair and sat down, like she was settling in for a cozy conversation. “Did they tell you when you’ll be able get out of here?”
“Yeah, maybe Thursday or Friday. They’re concerned about infection, about my breathing, but if I continue to improve, they’ll spring me.”
“Do you have a place to go?”
“Yeah – my apartment’s still there.” He tried not to think about the awful possibility that he’d be taken back to prison or put into some secure facility. Hughes hadn’t said anything about it, but there was still a Marshal watching, and Neal was pretty sure it wasn’t for his protection.
“Do you have someone to look after you?”
Neal raised an eyebrow at the cop’s almost relentless concern. “Yes, I do. I do have friends.” He tried not to think about Peter. Tried and failed.
“Yes, you do. Good ones. You’re lucky.”
“I know.”
Benson had an odd and almost regretful expression on her face. She looked like there was something she wanted to tell him. Instead, her lips twisted into a smile and she abruptly stood up. “We’ll be in touch.”
Neal had to ask, “Do you think you’ll catch the people who did this?”
“We’re pursuing a number of leads.”
“In other words, you don’t have a clue, do you?”
“No, in other words, it’s an active investigation, and you should know I can’t discuss the details – not even with you.”
“Yeah, I get that.” And even though he knew his anger was unreasonable, he couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.
Benson paused, again like she wanted to tell him something.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She gave him another rueful smile and left.
Neal wished he could do the same.
GO TO CHAPTER TWELVE
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
