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elrhiarhodanTitle: Return and Rebuild the Desolate Places – Chapter Twenty-Two
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. No spoilers for Season 6, A/U from S5 finale forward.
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Kidnapping, torture (off-camera), rape (off-camera),
Word Count: This chapter – ~3800
Beta Credit:sinfulslasher
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: As Neal continues to heal, physically, so does his relationship with Peter, who comes to bring him some excellent news. Mozzie and Hughes come to some kind of terms about their relationship.
__________________
Previous Chapters: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen | Chapter Nineteen | Chapter Twenty | Chapter Twenty-One |
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.
Art bykanarek13
Sometime in Late January – Early Thursday Evening
Elizabeth tried not to be annoyed that Mozzie and not her husband was once again the bearer of important news. And how could she be annoyed, when the news was so good?
“Let me get this straight, you and Reese Hughes went undercover as brothers to catch the people who kidnapped Neal?”
“Yes, Mrs. Suit, that’s exactly what we did. And might I add, as twins.” Mozzie sounded triumphant, but there was something else there – a thread of anger, of grief.
“What happened?”
Moz didn’t answer right away.
“Mozzie?”
“The bastard bragged about what he did to Neal.” Moz was breathing heavily, as if he could barely control his emotions.
“Oh, sweetie.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“You know what this means, right?”
“No, I don’t.” El closed her eyes and tried to think. “Wait, wait… This means that there’s no chance that Neal will be sent back to prison.”
Moz’s satisfaction was tinged with something dark, like bloodlust. “Yes. I would have killed that cowboy boot-wearing son of a bitch with my bare hands but there’s still some value to his life.”
“Mozzie!” El wasn’t shocked; she remembered just how protective he was about people he cared about. She changed the subject, sort of. “Was Peter there?”
“No – this was all about the boys, or make that the girls, in blue. I don’t even know if the Suit was aware that this was going down. The Old Gray Suit might have told him, but I didn’t.”
El felt better. If Peter didn’t know, then he hadn’t broken his promise to tell her what was going on. “I’ll be home tomorrow night.” She wondered just how much longer she’d be able to do this – live a two-city life. The job at the National Gallery was a dream come true, but it was also starting to feel like a selfish indulgence.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Mozzie was pissed. Out of the goodness of his heart, he’d stopped by his erstwhile “brother’s” apartment to see if he wanted to go to the hospital and tell Neal about last night’s success, but The Old Gray Suit stopped him. Physically.
“This is such an abuse of power!” He twisted against the old man’s hold, breaking loose only to find the exit blocked. “I demand my freedom!”
“Put a sock in it.” Hughes gave him a little shove and Moz found himself sitting in an all-too-comfortable chair.
“How long are you going to keep me here?”
“Just long enough to allow Benson to do her job before you can blab to Neal.”
“I don’t blab!” Moz was outraged at the very suggestion. He just wanted to be the one to share the news.
“Here.” Hughes handed him a glass, filled with something that came out of a bottle of twelve year old Macallan. Moz took the glass but didn’t drink – at least not until Hughes took one for himself and sipped. Even then, Moz was reluctant. It was likely that the glass itself or even the entire bottle was poisoned and the Old Gray Suit was likely immune to whatever he’d used.
“This isn’t The Princess Bride. ”
“Huh?” The hair on the back of Moz's neck stood up. He wondered if the old man could read minds.
“They teach mind reading in Spook School, you know.” Hughes’ lips twitched, and despite his paranoia, Moz could see the humor in the situation. He took a sip from the glass and sighed in pleasure. There was a reason why twelve year old Macallan was so damn expensive. He’d have to think of a way to liberate the rest of the bottle.
“We did good work.”
Moz had to agree.
“We make a good team.”
“That we do.”
“I was wondering if you’d crack under the stress.”
“I’m like case-hardened blued steel.” Moz took another sip.
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
He chuckled. “No, it doesn’t. Consider me the Hope Diamond. No – wait. That’s an unfortunate analogy.”
“It is.” Hughes sat down across from him. “Ever consider using your talents in more … approved ways?”
“Huh?” Moz blinked, not sure he was hearing what he was hearing. “Are you trying to … recruit me?”
“Maybe. Have you ever actively worked against the interests of the U.S. Government?”
“Umm…” Moz thought for a few moments. “Does casing a certain vault in Lower Manhattan count?”
Hughes raised just one of those formidable eyebrows at him. “You were thinking of robbing the Federal Reserve?”
“It was a passing thought…” Moz finished the contents of the tumbler and held it out to Hughes for a refill.
“Glad it was just a thought.”
“I wouldn’t be an employee…” He couldn’t believe he was giving this offer serious consideration.
“No – a contractor.” Somehow, I don’t think you’d pass the psych evaluation.” Hughes refilled the glass, making it a double this time.
“Are you impugning my mental stability?” Moz tried for outrage.
Hughes stared at him over the rim of his own glass and said simply, “Yes.”
Moz toasted the other man. “Fair enough. And I always appreciate honesty, which is the only reason why I’ll consider your offer.”
“Good.”
Moz pretended to immerse himself in the Macallan and scoped out the surroundings while the Uber-Suit responded to a text. Lots of dark wood, but tasteful. Suitable for a former Suit and not-so-former Spook. He wondered if the sideboard was genuine Eastlake.
“You want to go over to the hospital now?” Hughes interrupted his mildly felonious musings.
“Now?”
“Just got a text from Peter, he and Benson are on their way over to talk with Neal. I was thinking about heading to the hospital, too. You’re welcome to join me.”
Moz drained the rest of the scotch and set the glass down with an emphatic thump. He was a little unsteady when he got to his feet and wondered if it was just exhaustion or maybe there really was something in the drink. Regardless, he gestured for the Old Gray Suit to lead the way. “Well, then, what are we waiting for?”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Shortly after the shrink finished with him, a nurse came and changed his bandages, checked his IV lines, asked him to rate his physical pain, and finally left. He kept replaying the last exchange with Dr. Reissinger – his bizarre description of Peter as his captor and her curiosity and concern over that word.
Alone with his thoughts, he had to admit that calling Peter his best friend and then saying that Peter kept him “chained up” was a strange dichotomy. But both descriptions were true. Peter was the one who kept him on the anklet, who chased after him every damn time he even thought about running. And yet, he’d once told Peter, albeit under the influence of some powerful drugs, that he was the only one he really trusted, and that was the absolute and unconditional truth.
He might be closer to Moz, but Moz was far too self-interested, too invested in his own view of the world, to not sell him out if he thought it was the best course of action. And as much as he loved Moz, and as much as he knew that Moz cared for him, how much he valued their friendship, Neal wasn’t all that sure that Moz would take a bullet meant for him.
Peter would. And he’d do the same for Peter.
But Peter was also the one who caught him, who was relentless in his pursuit of “justice,” and who kept dragging him back.
No, that wasn’t right. Peter loved him like family; he was the closest person Neal had to someone who loved him, despite his faults. Neal closed his eyes and fought against the memories.
“You’re a criminal, and that’s all you’ll ever be.” He could hear those words as if they were spoken just seconds ago. He had heard them in his head every time those faceless bastards came after him with their fists and their whips and used his body like a dirty rag. And then other words started to echo in his brain, words that sounded like they came out of his own mouth. “This is your fault – you did this to me. You did this, you bastard. You forgot about me and left me to die”
No. No. He didn’t believe that. He couldn’t think that Peter had left him to suffer because he was nothing more than a criminal. No.
“Neal?”
He opened his eyes and Peter was there. This all felt too familiar.
“What’s wrong?”
“Wrong?” Neal was confused.
“You’re crying. Are you in pain? Did something happen?”
Neal wiped at his face and his fingers came away wet. “No – not in pain. I – I was just…” He couldn’t bring himself to articulate what he was feeling, what terrible thoughts had been chasing around his brain.
“Did the shrink do a number on you? Did she mess with your head?” Peter’s voice was gentle, but he could detect a note of steely anger there.
“She asked a lot of questions, but I’m okay.” He pressed the button to lift the head of the bed, so he could at least talk to Peter face to face. He was surprised to see that Peter wasn’t alone. Sergeant Benson was standing at his shoulder. “What’s going on?”
Benson’s stern face relaxed into a smile. “We’ve made arrests, Neal. We have a recorded confession. We’ve got the men who kidnapped you and they’re going to prison.”
Her words were simple, straightforward, and to the point. But Neal wasn’t sure he heard them correctly. “What?”
“We’ve got them. The ones you called The Slav and Cowboy Boots. They’re in custody and probably on their way to arraignment right now.”
“How?” He still wasn’t sure he believed what he was hearing.
“Your friends – Mozzie and Mr. Hughes – helped. I’m sure they’ll want to tell you the story in all the glorious detail.”
“They confessed?” He had to ask because he still wasn’t sure he believed what he was hearing.
“Yes – Cowboy Boots … ” Benson frowned and paused. “He bragged about grabbing you, about torturing you, about breaking you to get your compliance. About killing you.”
Neal took a deep breath and as he exhaled, the vague sense of dread that had been dogging him since he woke in this hospital bed eased.
“I’m going to head back to the station, okay? But if you need anything, call me.” Benson left her card on the nightstand, nodded to Peter and left.
“I guess the nightmare’s over.” Neal spoke and hoped those words were true. Peter loomed over him, still tense, worry etched deep in his face.
“You’ll probably have to testify.”
“I can do that.”
Peter didn’t say anything, and Neal was getting a little unnerved. He wondered if Peter knew what dark thoughts had been chasing around his brain before he’d arrived. “Are you going to just stand there and stare at me? Do I have something on my nose?” Neal made a show of scrubbing at it, but Peter just stood there, hands shoved into his coat pocket. He didn’t even crack a smile. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Then sit, please. You’re making me nervous.”
That got a reaction. Peter looked like he was forcing himself to relax. He grabbed the chair he’d spent last night in and sat.
“Is there a problem? Has your boss come back with bad news?”
“No – no. Nothing’s wrong. And with the confession on record, there’s no way you’d be sent back to prison.”
“Then what’s going on, Peter?” He thought they’d sorted everything out yesterday, this morning. They’d finally talked. He was still working things out in his head, but that had nothing to do with Peter’s weird mood.
“Nothing – really. Just …” Peter reached out and took his hand and Neal immediately felt better.
“It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?”
“That they caught them, yeah. It does feel a little surreal.”
They sat quietly for a few minutes and Neal felt at peace. He was safe, his future a lot less cloudy than it had been even with Peter’s earlier assurances that he wasn’t going back to prison. And most important of all, Peter was here. He could face whatever he had to knowing that.
“So, Moz and Hughes… undercover ‘brothers’. Kind of hard to imagine.”
“Yeah – I know. Like that movie – the one with Arnold Schwarzenegger and Danny DeVito.”
“Agent Hughes – ” Neal couldn’t break the habit of using the man’s title, although he was retired, “has been very supportive.”
“You seem surprised.”
“I am – I guess. The last conversation we had - the day he'd 'retired', he called me a ‘son of a bitch’ and he wasn’t casting aspersions on my mother.”
“I’m pretty sure he said that as a gesture of respect.”
“He was – but I’m still not sure why he’s been my advocate.”
“Because he never believed you ran. As much as I was looking for you, so was Reese. He has … contacts.”
Peter didn’t elaborate and Neal didn’t ask. He’d long suspected that Reese Hughes was a hell of a lot more than an FBI agent. He’d kept those suspicions to himself, but it pleased him to see that he was right. “But Moz? I really can’t imagine the two of them cooperating. Mr. Paranoia himself and a Super Suit?”
Peter chuckled. “I think Moz has been calling him the ‘Old Gray Suit’ but I suspect that Reese would prefer your nickname.”
There was a faint buzzing sound from Peter’s suit jacket, but he made no move to look at it.
“That could be important, you know.”
Peter shrugged and still didn’t pull his phone out. He ignored the second buzz and the third one.
“Come on, Peter – aren’t you going to answer it?”
Peter grimaced in response and finally reached into his jacket pocket and took out his FBI-issued phone. Whatever the texts were, they didn’t elicit any reaction from his friend, who put the phone away without responding.
But Neal’s curiosity was piqued. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” Peter gave him a half-smile, but Neal didn’t buy it.
“Nothing? Really?”
“Yes, really – and sometimes the world doesn’t revolve around Neal Caffrey – only sometimes. Occasionally. Rarely. But it does happen.”
“Okay, but I’m still curious.” Neal leaned back against the pillows, shifting uncomfortably as the movement pulled at the healing skin on his back and at the surgery sites on his belly and chest. He’d insisted on eliminating all of the pain-killers except ibuprofen, and they’d only let him take that twice a day.
“Are you all right?” Peter must have noticed his discomfort.
“Yeah – just healing. I’m getting better.” Neal hoped Peter wouldn’t start hovering. He didn’t want a nanny, but he also didn’t want Peter to leave.
“Good.” Peter leaned back against the chair, but from what Neal could read on his face, he wasn’t relaxing. He seemed almost expectant.
“Have you gone home yet?”
“I will, in a little while.”
“You don’t have to sit with me, you know.” He could tell just how exhausted he was.
“I know – I also know that I should have been here days ago.” Peter sighed. “I can’t undo what I did – or didn’t – do. But I can be here now.”
“For a little while longer, okay?”
Peter gave him that wry grin – the one that had sealed their friendship so long ago. “For a little while.”
Peter was a restful companion – unlike Moz, who seemed to either need to entertain him or needed to be entertained. But Moz hadn’t been around for the past few days, for good reason. Neal loved the little guy – he was a brother, a father, a partner in crime. Moz could always be counted on to explore and exploit Neal’s own id, but Moz wasn’t the protective sort. At least not until things turned dark and deadly. He remembered the hit Moz had taken out on Matthew Keller after Keller murdered Hale.
Moz had loved the old man like a father.
But Neal had never figured that he’d ever be the focus of that degree of protective concern. Moz might not have taken a hit out on the men who’d kidnapped him, but what he’d done was even more extraordinary. He had worked with the FBI and the NYPD. And without Neal’s prodding or his promise of an expensive bottle of wine at the end of the day.
“You’re smiling,” Peter commented.
“Yeah. Just thinking about Moz working with so many Suits.”
“He’ll do anything for the people he loves. Even that.”
“Mmm, yeah.”
The conversation sank back into comfortable silence until it was broken by a sharp rap on the door frame. In iambic pentameter.
“Anybody home?”
Neal was surprised that Mozzie didn’t just burst into the room with some outrageous non sequitur. It might have been exhaustion, respect for his condition, or the rather stolid presence of Reese Hughes hovering over his shoulder.
“Hey there.” Neal found the controls that adjusted the bed, raising him into a full sitting position. “I understand you’re the hero of the hour.” He caught Hughes’ eye and they shared a small, private smile.
Moz, to his surprise, perched himself on the edge of the bed and just stared at him. “You okay?”
Neal nodded. “I’m getting better all the time.”
“Good.” Moz looked over at Peter. “Glad to see you finally decided to visit, Suit.”
Peter snorted and didn’t respond directly. “I am guessing that you’ve already spoken with my wife.”
Mozzie was surprisingly gentle in his reply. “You might want to give her a call. She’s been a little … worried.”
“I will.”
Neal was shocked by the suddenly bleak expression on Peter’s face, remembering his earlier deflection when he’d asked if he and Elizabeth were separated. There was definitely trouble between them and Neal couldn’t escape the feeling that he’d somehow been the cause of their problems.
“Peter -”
Peter turned from staring down Mozzie to looking at him, his expression softening. “What?”
“You need to go home.” Neal really didn’t want to send Peter away. He had the horrible and altogether ridiculous feeling that Peter might not come back. But Peter was exhausted and it wasn’t fair to keep him here.
Peter looked from him to Moz and then to Hughes, who was standing by the door, and then back to him again. “Okay. Should let you get some rest.” Peter paused, bit his lip, and pulled out his personal cell phone and handed it to him. “I’ll get you a new phone tomorrow, but in the meantime, if you need anything, call me.”
“Suit, keep yours. He can have mine.” Mozzie pulled out his own phone – or at least one of his own phones – and gave it to Neal.
Neal looked at the two phones and wasn’t sure what to do. “Um...” He looked up and caught Hughes’ eye.
The man let out a dry laugh. “Caffrey, I don’t have a spare phone for you, sorry.”
That broke the undercurrents of tension in the room. “Okay, guys – thanks.” Neal put the phones on the bedside table and yawned, wincing as the inhalation pulled at the surgical incisions and the scabs and the still-healing bruises.
“Neal, if you need anything, call me, no matter what time.”
Neal understood just what Peter was telling him. He nodded. “Get some rest, okay?” Go home, talk to Elizabeth, don’t think about me for a little while.
Peter stood at his bedside, hovering indecisively. He gave Neal an all too familiar nod and said, “Good night. I’ll be in tomorrow morning.”
“Go – Peter.”
And Peter did. Hughes followed him out the door, leaving him alone with Mozzie. “So – tell me everything.”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
“Peter?”
Peter leaned against the wall, too exhausted to feel much of anything. “What?”
“You look like crap. Did you sleep here last night?”
“Yeah. Saw Bruce this afternoon. He came up from D.C.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing, actually. Seems that the powers that be have decided that Neal won’t be going back to prison.”
“I should hope not – especially since we have a confession from those bastards that they kidnapped Neal.”
“This came through before that went down. I …” Peter stopped himself before telling Reese that he’d made a deal with the Devil.
Either Reese didn’t catch his aborted start of a confession, or ignored it. “McKinsey came all the way to New York in the middle of winter to give you the good news?”
“That wasn’t the only reason for his visit.”
“Oh?”
“I’m surprised you don’t know – considering how plugged in you are, Reese.”
The older man just shook his head. “I’ve been a little busy, Peter.”
Ah, right. “Neal’s long-term fate is still undecided. Bruce personally delivered a new tracker.”
“Hmmm.” Reese’s disgusted expression mirrored Peter’s own feelings. “How did Caffrey take that?”
“I haven’t put it on him yet. The tracker’s still in its case, in my office. It seems – I don’t know – obscene to put it back on him here. The doctors say he might be well enough to be released in the next day or so. Maybe then.”
“Are you thinking about not putting the tracker on him?”
Peter shrugged. “If the tracker isn’t activated, who will know? It’s not as if the Marshals check to see if an assigned tracker is operational.”
“They just might. Caffrey’s very high profile and not exactly a favorite with the Marshals Service.”
Peter had to agree. “But I can’t do this to him now – he’s very fragile. When I think about what those bastards did to him, and then I think about all the crap we’ve put him through – this is just wrong.”
“True.” Hughes sighed. “But your career…”
“My career is all but over. I’ve burned too many bridges the last few months. It’s only a matter of time before the axe falls. We both know that.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Bruce made some noises about still being welcome in D.C., but I can just imagine my reception there. And regardless, that’s not the life I want.”
“What about Elizabeth?”
“What about her?” Peter closed his eyes and tried to picture his wife, her loving smile, her strength, her fierce loyalty. But he came up blank.
Hughes let out a deep sigh and dropped the subject. “Go home, Peter. It’s late and you’re too exhausted to think straight.”
He scrubbed at his face, his stubble scratchy against his palm. “Yeah. I need some sleep.”
“If you’re smart – and I know you are – you’ll take a cab home. You’re in no shape to drive.”
Peter had to agree. “Are you coming, too?”
Hughes turned to go back to Neal’s room. “No, not quite yet. Someone needs to keep an eye on Mozzie.”
Peter had to laugh. “He starts to grow on you.”
“Yeah, like toenail fungus.”
TO BE CONTINUED
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. No spoilers for Season 6, A/U from S5 finale forward.
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Kidnapping, torture (off-camera), rape (off-camera),
Word Count: This chapter – ~3800
Beta Credit:
sinfulslasher 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: As Neal continues to heal, physically, so does his relationship with Peter, who comes to bring him some excellent news. Mozzie and Hughes come to some kind of terms about their relationship.
Previous Chapters: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen | Chapter Nineteen | Chapter Twenty | Chapter Twenty-One |
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.
Art by
kanarek13Sometime in Late January – Early Thursday Evening
Elizabeth tried not to be annoyed that Mozzie and not her husband was once again the bearer of important news. And how could she be annoyed, when the news was so good?
“Let me get this straight, you and Reese Hughes went undercover as brothers to catch the people who kidnapped Neal?”
“Yes, Mrs. Suit, that’s exactly what we did. And might I add, as twins.” Mozzie sounded triumphant, but there was something else there – a thread of anger, of grief.
“What happened?”
Moz didn’t answer right away.
“Mozzie?”
“The bastard bragged about what he did to Neal.” Moz was breathing heavily, as if he could barely control his emotions.
“Oh, sweetie.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“You know what this means, right?”
“No, I don’t.” El closed her eyes and tried to think. “Wait, wait… This means that there’s no chance that Neal will be sent back to prison.”
Moz’s satisfaction was tinged with something dark, like bloodlust. “Yes. I would have killed that cowboy boot-wearing son of a bitch with my bare hands but there’s still some value to his life.”
“Mozzie!” El wasn’t shocked; she remembered just how protective he was about people he cared about. She changed the subject, sort of. “Was Peter there?”
“No – this was all about the boys, or make that the girls, in blue. I don’t even know if the Suit was aware that this was going down. The Old Gray Suit might have told him, but I didn’t.”
El felt better. If Peter didn’t know, then he hadn’t broken his promise to tell her what was going on. “I’ll be home tomorrow night.” She wondered just how much longer she’d be able to do this – live a two-city life. The job at the National Gallery was a dream come true, but it was also starting to feel like a selfish indulgence.
Mozzie was pissed. Out of the goodness of his heart, he’d stopped by his erstwhile “brother’s” apartment to see if he wanted to go to the hospital and tell Neal about last night’s success, but The Old Gray Suit stopped him. Physically.
“This is such an abuse of power!” He twisted against the old man’s hold, breaking loose only to find the exit blocked. “I demand my freedom!”
“Put a sock in it.” Hughes gave him a little shove and Moz found himself sitting in an all-too-comfortable chair.
“How long are you going to keep me here?”
“Just long enough to allow Benson to do her job before you can blab to Neal.”
“I don’t blab!” Moz was outraged at the very suggestion. He just wanted to be the one to share the news.
“Here.” Hughes handed him a glass, filled with something that came out of a bottle of twelve year old Macallan. Moz took the glass but didn’t drink – at least not until Hughes took one for himself and sipped. Even then, Moz was reluctant. It was likely that the glass itself or even the entire bottle was poisoned and the Old Gray Suit was likely immune to whatever he’d used.
“This isn’t The Princess Bride. ”
“Huh?” The hair on the back of Moz's neck stood up. He wondered if the old man could read minds.
“They teach mind reading in Spook School, you know.” Hughes’ lips twitched, and despite his paranoia, Moz could see the humor in the situation. He took a sip from the glass and sighed in pleasure. There was a reason why twelve year old Macallan was so damn expensive. He’d have to think of a way to liberate the rest of the bottle.
“We did good work.”
Moz had to agree.
“We make a good team.”
“That we do.”
“I was wondering if you’d crack under the stress.”
“I’m like case-hardened blued steel.” Moz took another sip.
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
He chuckled. “No, it doesn’t. Consider me the Hope Diamond. No – wait. That’s an unfortunate analogy.”
“It is.” Hughes sat down across from him. “Ever consider using your talents in more … approved ways?”
“Huh?” Moz blinked, not sure he was hearing what he was hearing. “Are you trying to … recruit me?”
“Maybe. Have you ever actively worked against the interests of the U.S. Government?”
“Umm…” Moz thought for a few moments. “Does casing a certain vault in Lower Manhattan count?”
Hughes raised just one of those formidable eyebrows at him. “You were thinking of robbing the Federal Reserve?”
“It was a passing thought…” Moz finished the contents of the tumbler and held it out to Hughes for a refill.
“Glad it was just a thought.”
“I wouldn’t be an employee…” He couldn’t believe he was giving this offer serious consideration.
“No – a contractor.” Somehow, I don’t think you’d pass the psych evaluation.” Hughes refilled the glass, making it a double this time.
“Are you impugning my mental stability?” Moz tried for outrage.
Hughes stared at him over the rim of his own glass and said simply, “Yes.”
Moz toasted the other man. “Fair enough. And I always appreciate honesty, which is the only reason why I’ll consider your offer.”
“Good.”
Moz pretended to immerse himself in the Macallan and scoped out the surroundings while the Uber-Suit responded to a text. Lots of dark wood, but tasteful. Suitable for a former Suit and not-so-former Spook. He wondered if the sideboard was genuine Eastlake.
“You want to go over to the hospital now?” Hughes interrupted his mildly felonious musings.
“Now?”
“Just got a text from Peter, he and Benson are on their way over to talk with Neal. I was thinking about heading to the hospital, too. You’re welcome to join me.”
Moz drained the rest of the scotch and set the glass down with an emphatic thump. He was a little unsteady when he got to his feet and wondered if it was just exhaustion or maybe there really was something in the drink. Regardless, he gestured for the Old Gray Suit to lead the way. “Well, then, what are we waiting for?”
Shortly after the shrink finished with him, a nurse came and changed his bandages, checked his IV lines, asked him to rate his physical pain, and finally left. He kept replaying the last exchange with Dr. Reissinger – his bizarre description of Peter as his captor and her curiosity and concern over that word.
Alone with his thoughts, he had to admit that calling Peter his best friend and then saying that Peter kept him “chained up” was a strange dichotomy. But both descriptions were true. Peter was the one who kept him on the anklet, who chased after him every damn time he even thought about running. And yet, he’d once told Peter, albeit under the influence of some powerful drugs, that he was the only one he really trusted, and that was the absolute and unconditional truth.
He might be closer to Moz, but Moz was far too self-interested, too invested in his own view of the world, to not sell him out if he thought it was the best course of action. And as much as he loved Moz, and as much as he knew that Moz cared for him, how much he valued their friendship, Neal wasn’t all that sure that Moz would take a bullet meant for him.
Peter would. And he’d do the same for Peter.
But Peter was also the one who caught him, who was relentless in his pursuit of “justice,” and who kept dragging him back.
No, that wasn’t right. Peter loved him like family; he was the closest person Neal had to someone who loved him, despite his faults. Neal closed his eyes and fought against the memories.
“You’re a criminal, and that’s all you’ll ever be.” He could hear those words as if they were spoken just seconds ago. He had heard them in his head every time those faceless bastards came after him with their fists and their whips and used his body like a dirty rag. And then other words started to echo in his brain, words that sounded like they came out of his own mouth. “This is your fault – you did this to me. You did this, you bastard. You forgot about me and left me to die”
No. No. He didn’t believe that. He couldn’t think that Peter had left him to suffer because he was nothing more than a criminal. No.
“Neal?”
He opened his eyes and Peter was there. This all felt too familiar.
“What’s wrong?”
“Wrong?” Neal was confused.
“You’re crying. Are you in pain? Did something happen?”
Neal wiped at his face and his fingers came away wet. “No – not in pain. I – I was just…” He couldn’t bring himself to articulate what he was feeling, what terrible thoughts had been chasing around his brain.
“Did the shrink do a number on you? Did she mess with your head?” Peter’s voice was gentle, but he could detect a note of steely anger there.
“She asked a lot of questions, but I’m okay.” He pressed the button to lift the head of the bed, so he could at least talk to Peter face to face. He was surprised to see that Peter wasn’t alone. Sergeant Benson was standing at his shoulder. “What’s going on?”
Benson’s stern face relaxed into a smile. “We’ve made arrests, Neal. We have a recorded confession. We’ve got the men who kidnapped you and they’re going to prison.”
Her words were simple, straightforward, and to the point. But Neal wasn’t sure he heard them correctly. “What?”
“We’ve got them. The ones you called The Slav and Cowboy Boots. They’re in custody and probably on their way to arraignment right now.”
“How?” He still wasn’t sure he believed what he was hearing.
“Your friends – Mozzie and Mr. Hughes – helped. I’m sure they’ll want to tell you the story in all the glorious detail.”
“They confessed?” He had to ask because he still wasn’t sure he believed what he was hearing.
“Yes – Cowboy Boots … ” Benson frowned and paused. “He bragged about grabbing you, about torturing you, about breaking you to get your compliance. About killing you.”
Neal took a deep breath and as he exhaled, the vague sense of dread that had been dogging him since he woke in this hospital bed eased.
“I’m going to head back to the station, okay? But if you need anything, call me.” Benson left her card on the nightstand, nodded to Peter and left.
“I guess the nightmare’s over.” Neal spoke and hoped those words were true. Peter loomed over him, still tense, worry etched deep in his face.
“You’ll probably have to testify.”
“I can do that.”
Peter didn’t say anything, and Neal was getting a little unnerved. He wondered if Peter knew what dark thoughts had been chasing around his brain before he’d arrived. “Are you going to just stand there and stare at me? Do I have something on my nose?” Neal made a show of scrubbing at it, but Peter just stood there, hands shoved into his coat pocket. He didn’t even crack a smile. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Then sit, please. You’re making me nervous.”
That got a reaction. Peter looked like he was forcing himself to relax. He grabbed the chair he’d spent last night in and sat.
“Is there a problem? Has your boss come back with bad news?”
“No – no. Nothing’s wrong. And with the confession on record, there’s no way you’d be sent back to prison.”
“Then what’s going on, Peter?” He thought they’d sorted everything out yesterday, this morning. They’d finally talked. He was still working things out in his head, but that had nothing to do with Peter’s weird mood.
“Nothing – really. Just …” Peter reached out and took his hand and Neal immediately felt better.
“It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?”
“That they caught them, yeah. It does feel a little surreal.”
They sat quietly for a few minutes and Neal felt at peace. He was safe, his future a lot less cloudy than it had been even with Peter’s earlier assurances that he wasn’t going back to prison. And most important of all, Peter was here. He could face whatever he had to knowing that.
“So, Moz and Hughes… undercover ‘brothers’. Kind of hard to imagine.”
“Yeah – I know. Like that movie – the one with Arnold Schwarzenegger and Danny DeVito.”
“Agent Hughes – ” Neal couldn’t break the habit of using the man’s title, although he was retired, “has been very supportive.”
“You seem surprised.”
“I am – I guess. The last conversation we had - the day he'd 'retired', he called me a ‘son of a bitch’ and he wasn’t casting aspersions on my mother.”
“I’m pretty sure he said that as a gesture of respect.”
“He was – but I’m still not sure why he’s been my advocate.”
“Because he never believed you ran. As much as I was looking for you, so was Reese. He has … contacts.”
Peter didn’t elaborate and Neal didn’t ask. He’d long suspected that Reese Hughes was a hell of a lot more than an FBI agent. He’d kept those suspicions to himself, but it pleased him to see that he was right. “But Moz? I really can’t imagine the two of them cooperating. Mr. Paranoia himself and a Super Suit?”
Peter chuckled. “I think Moz has been calling him the ‘Old Gray Suit’ but I suspect that Reese would prefer your nickname.”
There was a faint buzzing sound from Peter’s suit jacket, but he made no move to look at it.
“That could be important, you know.”
Peter shrugged and still didn’t pull his phone out. He ignored the second buzz and the third one.
“Come on, Peter – aren’t you going to answer it?”
Peter grimaced in response and finally reached into his jacket pocket and took out his FBI-issued phone. Whatever the texts were, they didn’t elicit any reaction from his friend, who put the phone away without responding.
But Neal’s curiosity was piqued. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” Peter gave him a half-smile, but Neal didn’t buy it.
“Nothing? Really?”
“Yes, really – and sometimes the world doesn’t revolve around Neal Caffrey – only sometimes. Occasionally. Rarely. But it does happen.”
“Okay, but I’m still curious.” Neal leaned back against the pillows, shifting uncomfortably as the movement pulled at the healing skin on his back and at the surgery sites on his belly and chest. He’d insisted on eliminating all of the pain-killers except ibuprofen, and they’d only let him take that twice a day.
“Are you all right?” Peter must have noticed his discomfort.
“Yeah – just healing. I’m getting better.” Neal hoped Peter wouldn’t start hovering. He didn’t want a nanny, but he also didn’t want Peter to leave.
“Good.” Peter leaned back against the chair, but from what Neal could read on his face, he wasn’t relaxing. He seemed almost expectant.
“Have you gone home yet?”
“I will, in a little while.”
“You don’t have to sit with me, you know.” He could tell just how exhausted he was.
“I know – I also know that I should have been here days ago.” Peter sighed. “I can’t undo what I did – or didn’t – do. But I can be here now.”
“For a little while longer, okay?”
Peter gave him that wry grin – the one that had sealed their friendship so long ago. “For a little while.”
Peter was a restful companion – unlike Moz, who seemed to either need to entertain him or needed to be entertained. But Moz hadn’t been around for the past few days, for good reason. Neal loved the little guy – he was a brother, a father, a partner in crime. Moz could always be counted on to explore and exploit Neal’s own id, but Moz wasn’t the protective sort. At least not until things turned dark and deadly. He remembered the hit Moz had taken out on Matthew Keller after Keller murdered Hale.
Moz had loved the old man like a father.
But Neal had never figured that he’d ever be the focus of that degree of protective concern. Moz might not have taken a hit out on the men who’d kidnapped him, but what he’d done was even more extraordinary. He had worked with the FBI and the NYPD. And without Neal’s prodding or his promise of an expensive bottle of wine at the end of the day.
“You’re smiling,” Peter commented.
“Yeah. Just thinking about Moz working with so many Suits.”
“He’ll do anything for the people he loves. Even that.”
“Mmm, yeah.”
The conversation sank back into comfortable silence until it was broken by a sharp rap on the door frame. In iambic pentameter.
“Anybody home?”
Neal was surprised that Mozzie didn’t just burst into the room with some outrageous non sequitur. It might have been exhaustion, respect for his condition, or the rather stolid presence of Reese Hughes hovering over his shoulder.
“Hey there.” Neal found the controls that adjusted the bed, raising him into a full sitting position. “I understand you’re the hero of the hour.” He caught Hughes’ eye and they shared a small, private smile.
Moz, to his surprise, perched himself on the edge of the bed and just stared at him. “You okay?”
Neal nodded. “I’m getting better all the time.”
“Good.” Moz looked over at Peter. “Glad to see you finally decided to visit, Suit.”
Peter snorted and didn’t respond directly. “I am guessing that you’ve already spoken with my wife.”
Mozzie was surprisingly gentle in his reply. “You might want to give her a call. She’s been a little … worried.”
“I will.”
Neal was shocked by the suddenly bleak expression on Peter’s face, remembering his earlier deflection when he’d asked if he and Elizabeth were separated. There was definitely trouble between them and Neal couldn’t escape the feeling that he’d somehow been the cause of their problems.
“Peter -”
Peter turned from staring down Mozzie to looking at him, his expression softening. “What?”
“You need to go home.” Neal really didn’t want to send Peter away. He had the horrible and altogether ridiculous feeling that Peter might not come back. But Peter was exhausted and it wasn’t fair to keep him here.
Peter looked from him to Moz and then to Hughes, who was standing by the door, and then back to him again. “Okay. Should let you get some rest.” Peter paused, bit his lip, and pulled out his personal cell phone and handed it to him. “I’ll get you a new phone tomorrow, but in the meantime, if you need anything, call me.”
“Suit, keep yours. He can have mine.” Mozzie pulled out his own phone – or at least one of his own phones – and gave it to Neal.
Neal looked at the two phones and wasn’t sure what to do. “Um...” He looked up and caught Hughes’ eye.
The man let out a dry laugh. “Caffrey, I don’t have a spare phone for you, sorry.”
That broke the undercurrents of tension in the room. “Okay, guys – thanks.” Neal put the phones on the bedside table and yawned, wincing as the inhalation pulled at the surgical incisions and the scabs and the still-healing bruises.
“Neal, if you need anything, call me, no matter what time.”
Neal understood just what Peter was telling him. He nodded. “Get some rest, okay?” Go home, talk to Elizabeth, don’t think about me for a little while.
Peter stood at his bedside, hovering indecisively. He gave Neal an all too familiar nod and said, “Good night. I’ll be in tomorrow morning.”
“Go – Peter.”
And Peter did. Hughes followed him out the door, leaving him alone with Mozzie. “So – tell me everything.”
“Peter?”
Peter leaned against the wall, too exhausted to feel much of anything. “What?”
“You look like crap. Did you sleep here last night?”
“Yeah. Saw Bruce this afternoon. He came up from D.C.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing, actually. Seems that the powers that be have decided that Neal won’t be going back to prison.”
“I should hope not – especially since we have a confession from those bastards that they kidnapped Neal.”
“This came through before that went down. I …” Peter stopped himself before telling Reese that he’d made a deal with the Devil.
Either Reese didn’t catch his aborted start of a confession, or ignored it. “McKinsey came all the way to New York in the middle of winter to give you the good news?”
“That wasn’t the only reason for his visit.”
“Oh?”
“I’m surprised you don’t know – considering how plugged in you are, Reese.”
The older man just shook his head. “I’ve been a little busy, Peter.”
Ah, right. “Neal’s long-term fate is still undecided. Bruce personally delivered a new tracker.”
“Hmmm.” Reese’s disgusted expression mirrored Peter’s own feelings. “How did Caffrey take that?”
“I haven’t put it on him yet. The tracker’s still in its case, in my office. It seems – I don’t know – obscene to put it back on him here. The doctors say he might be well enough to be released in the next day or so. Maybe then.”
“Are you thinking about not putting the tracker on him?”
Peter shrugged. “If the tracker isn’t activated, who will know? It’s not as if the Marshals check to see if an assigned tracker is operational.”
“They just might. Caffrey’s very high profile and not exactly a favorite with the Marshals Service.”
Peter had to agree. “But I can’t do this to him now – he’s very fragile. When I think about what those bastards did to him, and then I think about all the crap we’ve put him through – this is just wrong.”
“True.” Hughes sighed. “But your career…”
“My career is all but over. I’ve burned too many bridges the last few months. It’s only a matter of time before the axe falls. We both know that.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Bruce made some noises about still being welcome in D.C., but I can just imagine my reception there. And regardless, that’s not the life I want.”
“What about Elizabeth?”
“What about her?” Peter closed his eyes and tried to picture his wife, her loving smile, her strength, her fierce loyalty. But he came up blank.
Hughes let out a deep sigh and dropped the subject. “Go home, Peter. It’s late and you’re too exhausted to think straight.”
He scrubbed at his face, his stubble scratchy against his palm. “Yeah. I need some sleep.”
“If you’re smart – and I know you are – you’ll take a cab home. You’re in no shape to drive.”
Peter had to agree. “Are you coming, too?”
Hughes turned to go back to Neal’s room. “No, not quite yet. Someone needs to keep an eye on Mozzie.”
Peter had to laugh. “He starts to grow on you.”
“Yeah, like toenail fungus.”
Tags:
- character: clinton jones,
- character: diana berrigan,
- character: elizabeth burke,
- character: june ellington,
- character: landon shepherd,
- 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
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no subject
Date: 2014-11-13 03:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-11-18 07:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-11-13 03:37 pm (UTC)Reese Hughes is definitely Super Suit.
Neal is sounding like he's feeling much better. And I think it's not just an act.
I like Neal's thoughts about the contrast between Mozzie and Peter. He's being just a little bit unfair to Mozzie, though -- Moz will sacrifice his own interest for someone he really cares about, if the stakes are high enough. He gave up The Treasure to save Elizabeth. Still, I'm glad he sees those differences.
Peter... get some sleep. Get lots of sleep. Get enough sleep that you can make good decisions. Then call Elizabeth, okay?
no subject
Date: 2014-11-18 07:40 pm (UTC)Thank you - and I do think that Neal has a clear picture of Moz, but it's clouded by so many personal doubts.
no subject
Date: 2014-11-13 04:37 pm (UTC)Yay glad to see your muse is back. Love this last chapter. Reese and Moz....Awwww. And Peter must go to El.
no subject
Date: 2014-11-18 07:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-11-13 06:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-11-18 07:43 pm (UTC)Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2014-11-13 07:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-11-18 08:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-11-13 08:05 pm (UTC)And of course, loved the rest. They still need to talk more though. Neal may not see Peter as his captor, but there are still unresolved issues.
no subject
Date: 2014-11-18 08:53 pm (UTC)There's much more to come in the healing chapters - Peter and Neal definitely still have many unresolved issues.
Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2014-11-14 01:20 am (UTC)Things are looking brighter for Neal but I'm not sure about Peter's mental state. He needs El back in his life, by his side.
no subject
Date: 2014-11-18 08:54 pm (UTC)Things are definitely improving between Peter and Neal. And things will progress between Peter and Elizabeth - because they can't get worse, can they?
no subject
Date: 2014-11-16 08:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-11-18 08:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-11-26 10:14 am (UTC)Absolutely wonderful!