White Collar Fic - Weep to Break the World - Part Two of Two

[elrhiarhodan]

Title: Weep to Break the World – Part Two
Author: elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Reese Hughes, Diana Berrigan, Clinton Jones, Neal Caffrey, June Ellington, OMC; Pre-Peter/Neal, past Neal/Kate
Word Count: ~14,000 (two parts)
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Mention of canon death of canon character
Beta Credit: sinfulslasher
Artwork: kanarek13
Summary: An A/U riff on Pilot, where Neal is not successful in his attempt to break out of prison. Peter goes to Sing-Sing to deal with the fallout. It is, once more, the start of a very beautiful friendship.

__________________



Peter seemed to command quite a bit of power here in Sing-Sing.

He gestured towards the window and a guard came in with a tray of food. Not the carbohydrate-laden slop that the prisoners were fed, but something that looked freshly cooked, with plenty of vegetables and a perfectly done piece of salmon. Moz might complain that there was no wine, but the aroma reminded Neal that he hadn't eaten since breakfast yesterday. He'd been too nervous last night and this morning.

"Eat."

Neal didn't need to be told twice. He dove into the food, but after three mouthfuls, he felt ill and swallowed hard against the sudden nausea. Peter must have noticed – he opened the bottle of water that had accompanied the meal and handed it to him. "Small sips."

Neal complied and the nausea receded.

"Go a little slower. You need to eat and get the No-Flight out of your system. It'll take a few days before it's all gone, but eating will help purge the toxin."

"Okay." He took another bite and swallowed cautiously. His stomach didn't rebel this time. And then another small bite. Still okay, but unwilling to push his luck, Neal pushed the tray aside.

Peter pushed it back. "Like I said, you need to eat."

Neal picked up the fork again but, in a delaying tactic, asked, "Did you ever take that stuff?"

"Yeah. It's part of every Dracon's FBI training. We need to know what it feels like."

Neal thought Peter's expression was very interesting – a touch of fear and a whole lot of disgust. "I guess that makes sense. Is there any way to combat it?"

Peter shook his head minutely and flicked his eyes towards the glass wall. Neal immediately understood. There were some things that couldn't be discussed here.

"Finish your food."

He did, eating every last morsel under Peter's watchful eye. All too soon, Peter signaled again and a guard, Bobby, came in. Not to bring him tiramisu or a crème brûlée, but to take him back to his cell.

Peter stopped them, pulling Bobby to one side, and Neal strained to hear the conversation. The words were indistinguishable, but watching the two of them in the reflecting glass, Neal could tell that Peter was giving Bobby some very strict instructions. Bobby nodded and smiled and when Peter held out his hand, Bobby took it and his grin grew that much broader.

Neal, however, knew better than to smile. But he had to wonder just how much Peter was paying for his protection. He was vain enough to hope it was a lot.

His cell, of course, had been stripped of all the creature comforts he'd hoarded for himself over the years. There were bits of tape with the remnants of Leonardo's equestrian study he'd copied from memory, a nail hole where he'd hung up a Russian icon. They'd taken the icon and the nail. His books were gone, too. The only thing left behind was the marker he'd used to cross off the days of his sentence.

Neal tried to tell himself that it was just three more months. Ninety days and then he'd be out of here. He'd be free to go find Kate and get her back.

And then Neal remembered the tracker – the thing Peter was going to put on him. He couldn't imagine that it was going to be all that hard to get out of. He was a dragon and he'd be able to go anywhere.

Then he stopped cold. A dragon. Kin. Dracon. The idea of it was almost unbelievable. He had so many questions and the only person he knew that could provide answers was Peter Burke. If he disappeared, he'd never get the answers to those questions.

The hours passed slowly, with nothing to read, nothing to do. When Bobby had taken him back to his cell and locked him in, he gave him some pretty bad news. "You're on lockdown, Neal. Sorry. You're in your cell twenty-four hours a day."

Neal said nothing. It was actually better than he'd expected. He thought that he'd be sent to the SHU – the segregated housing unit – where prisoners were kept in solitary. Solid walls, no bars, no windows, no contact with anyone else. At least in his cell here, he could see the world coming and going, he could talk to people. He'd go mad if he was kept in isolation.

Again, he wondered just what this special treatment was costing Agent Burke.

He sat at the little desk in his cell and waited for this day to end. The crackle of a guard's radio broke the silence. "Light's out. Shut 'em down."

Bobby shuffled by. "Neal, gotta turn that off."

"Can I get one more minute, Bobby?" Not that he needed it for anything.

Bobby gave him the minute.

"Is it midnight yet?"

"Yeah, Neal – it's midnight."

So this day was finally over. He made his tally mark and hoped like hell that Peter Burke would keep his promise, that when these last three months were up, he'd be out of here.

The next morning brought the return of horrible prison food, and in the afternoon, a visit from Warden Haskley and a strange gift from Peter.

Haskley was, suffice to say, furious. He'd trusted Neal and Neal had repaid that trust by stealing his wife's American Express card to buy the guard uniform. Neal could understand that anger. But there was something else in his eyes, something that gave Neal, who had always considered the warden to be as harmless as he was stupid, pause.

Bobby wasn't on shift today. Another guard, Leroy, who was – of all things – Bobby's brother and as decent a man as they came, was in his cell with the warden and Halbend, the guard who had stopped him just before he made it freedom. Haskley ordered Leroy to grab Neal's leg and hold him. Halbend knelt, took hold of Neal's left ankle and pulled up his pants before taking the black plastic cuff that Haskley handed him. He locked it around Neal's ankle. Neal felt something – an electronic pulse that lasted for a heartbeat. A little green light came on and Halbend stood up and wiped his hands on his uniform shirt, a disgusted look on his face. Before yesterday, the guard never let an opportunity pass when he could touch him.

Haskley and Halbend left the cell, but Halbend turned back and spat on the floor, muttering, "Filthy dragon."

Leroy sighed as he let go of Neal. "Sorry about that."

Neal understood. "It's okay. Orders are orders."

"Yeah. You've got some powerful friends, though. They want you to stay safe." Leroy nodded at the tracker. "That thing's going to go a long way to make sure of that."

Neal lifted his leg and looked at it, slightly disgusted. He'd hoped he would have a few months before they shackled him. "I don't guess I have too many choices."

"No, man, you don't." Leroy was about to leave, but he turned back. "Almost forgot, this arrived for you today. Special FBI courier." Leroy tossed a package on the table and left Neal's cell, locking the bars behind him.

Neal pounced on the package – he couldn't imagine what Peter would be sending him. It felt like a book. As he opened it, Neal wondered if it was an instruction manual for people who discovered they were dragons. Draconis.

But it wasn't.

It was an old puzzle book, circa 2000 – the "Best of New York Times Sunday Crosswords". A mechanical pencil was clipped to the front cover. Neal mentally thanked Peter for the bizarre, yet thoughtful gift until he turned to the first puzzle. It was completed. So was the next, and the one after that. Neal looked through the whole book and saw that almost all of the puzzles were completed. Those that weren't finished had only a handful of clues unanswered. Why would Peter send him this? He turned it over and shook it, hoping that a message would fall out. But nothing. He checked the flyleaf, and Neal laughed. It said Property of Peter Burke. So very typical.

But nothing else.

Neal was about to toss the book aside, but he couldn't. Peter wouldn't send him something so meaningless. He sat at the desk and started looking at the puzzles.

And smiled.

Peter was clearly a consummate crossword puzzle solver – he used a pen and he rarely seemed to make a mistake. His writing was bold and confident, so much like the Dracon himself. Neal wondered if Peter enjoyed the challenge of solving a puzzle or the satisfaction in completing it – how hard could the clues be when you were so old?

But that wasn't why he was smiling. Next to a clue in the first puzzle, 23-Down – "A 'Lost Man'? – 7 letters" was a penciled tick mark. And sure enough, in the answer, "Godfrey," there was a corresponding dot next to the letter "D".

Almost every puzzle had those tick marks and most had a couple. It took the best part of two days before Neal was certain he got all of the letters. Of course, the letters still needed to be decoded and it was a three days before Neal was ready to give up.

That's when the next book of crossword puzzles arrived. This time, the book was new, but there were some tick marks on the title page. A few digits in the Library of Congress catalog number were underlined and crossed out.

This was the key to decoding the message.

A few days later, Neal had a complete letter from Peter Burke, sans punctuation.

neal you are in a very precarious position right now hfho has a strong presence in the prison administrative structure i suspect that haskley is part of the group and I am positive that halbend is too trust only bobby and leroy they are kin whatever you do dont try to transform the anklet will keep you from making the physical change but there will be other effects control your emotions keep safe be patient just hold on for a little while longer im doing everything i can to protect you but you have to obey me destroy this message

Neal read the words over and over again, strangely warmed by Peter's concern. No one, not Kate, not Mozzie, certainly not his parents, had ever looked out for him quite like this. Of course, it was because he was Kin, and Peter's interest in him was probably due to the Dracon blood. But still, he couldn't dismiss the feelings that Peter's message caused.

Bobby had given him an old legal pad the day after Peter's first present had arrived and Neal had used that as his workbook while he was trying to decode the message. Even though he never left his cell, that didn't mean that his cell couldn't be tossed and the paper confiscated. He'd hidden each day's efforts in various parts of his cell, but had sweated through at least two "inspections". The message complete, he tore the paper into confetti and flushed it away.

At least he had the new book of crossword puzzles to keep his mind occupied.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Hughes knew the moment that Peter stepped back into the building. The very girders vibrated with the Dracon's satisfaction. He still worried about Peter's control and if there was some way to force the issue, he'd insist that Peter take a leave of absence for at least a month.

But not with the Caffrey situation. And even the thought of that still had the power to amaze him. He'd let Peter investigate the original bond forgeries – it made sense, given Peter's own financial interest. Putting another Dracon on the case might have led to some interesting territorial arguments. The Humans in D.C. still had nightmares about what happened between Peter and Ruiz a few years back. Hell, he did, too.

The bond forger led Peter on a very merry chase for a while. Hughes knew just how much Peter enjoyed it and he knew how much it hurt him to let Caffrey go to prison. In another time, another country, Peter would have claimed Caffrey as his own, locked him away, and protected him against all challenges.

But Peter had taken an oath to put Human justice before his instinctive need to hoard and protect what he deemed his.

And then David Siegel arrived on the scene and at first, Hughes was pleased. David was a better focus for Peter's Dracon needs, if for the simple fact that he wasn't a criminal. But a few weeks after Siegel joined the White Collar team, Hughes started to have his doubts, but he kept those thoughts to himself. He knew that Peter had a blind spot when it came to the young Human, not surprising since he'd made him part of his hoard. But Hughes had done a little digging. David Siegel had certain associations that were not wholly compatible with the Dracon-controlled FBI.

When the agent was found dead on a sidewalk in a seedy neighborhood in Brooklyn, Hughes was a touch relieved. It saved him the effort of eliminating Siegel himself, his oath to the FBI notwithstanding.

He knew that David's death hurt Peter, but he hadn't expected how it would shatter his old friend. Three years was too long a time to live with Peter's barely muted grief over someone who probably didn't deserve the honors that Peter had bestowed upon him. He'd kept quiet as long as he could, until his friend's roiling emotions began affecting the entire office. Putting Peter on leave wasn't the best solution, but it seemed the only choice he had.

At least until Berrigan walked in with the news about Caffrey.

It was well after ten o'clock and alone in the office, Hughes waited for Peter on the balcony overlooking the vacant bullpen. He could feel him as the elevator approached the twenty-first floor. A chime announced the car's arrival and Peter's satisfaction swamped the floor like a tidal wave.

Yes, Peter was going to need to work on his control, but at least he was happy again.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

When he got back to the office, Peter briefed Hughes in detail. They sat in Hughes' office and shared a well-earned drink.

"Caffrey is definitely Dracon." He fished out one of Neal's scales from his pocket and with visible reluctance, gave it to Hughes to examine.

The Dracon held the scale up to the light. "Hmmm. Interesting colors. Haven't seen this shade of blue since before the last War. They were on the losing side."

"I know. Maybe that's why we knew nothing about Caffrey, why we can find no mention of his line in the Book of Fire." Peter shook his head, intrigued by the mystery. "And you'd think there'd be some survivors, some mention. Even half-bloods are documented."

Hughes snorted, "You would think that, but you know just how complex Dracon politics are. It's possible that the Kin who maintain the Book of Fire aren't as neutral as they should be."

"As the soft-skins say, the history books are written by the winners."

"Exactly."

Peter held out his hand and Hughes returned the scale with a bit of a smirk. "Caffrey's okay? No lasting damage from the No-Flight?"

"He seems to have recovered remarkably well." Peter grimaced. "A little too well. Three doses of No-Flight but he was up and walking in a few hours. And talking, and if I had let down my guard, he would have been three steps ahead of me."

Hughes sighed. "That's troubling. With that much No-Flight in his system, he should have been unconscious for a few days."

"You're right. I wish I hadn't rushed out of here this afternoon. I wasn't thinking. I should have taken an anklet with me."

Hughes resolved him of his misstep. "You know those things are always iffy propositions – they work better as a threat than anything."

"I know that, but I called in a requisition on the drive back anyway. The Kin I spoke to said one would be delivered to the prison tomorrow. She couldn't manage it any sooner."

"You're not going to put it on him yourself?"

"No, it's best I don't keep showing up there."

Hughes nodded. "By the way, how did you convince the warden not to have Caffrey transferred to a more Dracon-proof facility?"

Peter laughed, but he wasn't really all that amused. "There's something unpleasant going on there and I think the warden's up to his neck in it."

"Unpleasant?"

"HFHO. The guard who caught Neal stank of hatred and while I first thought Haskley was a clueless idiot, by the time I finished, my gut was telling me that he's involved, too."

"So, what did you do?"

"Threatened to turn his cozy little empire upside down. As long as Caffrey stays on lockdown in his currently assigned cell until the end of his sentence, and he stays safe, I won't start a Federal investigation into the drug trafficking I witnessed between the guards and the prisoners."

Hughes laughed. "And did you witness any such trafficking?"

Peter grinned. If he were in his Dracon form, he might have actually let a stream of smoke puff from his nostrils. "What do you think?"

"So the warden, Haskley, caved?"

"Like a house of cards. He doesn't want anyone poking around, and certainly not Kin. Haskley will put the anklet on Neal. I told him it's a status monitor and that we'll know immediately if Caffrey's moved or if he's harmed in any way."

"But wasn't he concerned that Caffrey would just try to transform?"

Peter sighed, knowing that this was a big hole in his plan. "I told him that Caffrey couldn't change, not in the close confines of his cell – it would kill him. And that the remnants of the No-Flight would make it almost impossible for a few weeks, if not longer."

"Plausible."

"And complete lies. Neal doesn't know what he is. We aren't really sure what he is. And until he's done with his sentence, we're not going to find out."

"You're sure you want to take this on?"

Peter nodded. "Caffrey's mine."

"It's not going to be as easy as that, you know."

"I know."

"He's going to fight you, tooth and claw. You prepared for that?"

"Of course."

"It could mean the end of your career here."

Peter shrugged. "Caffrey's Kin. That's what's important."

"Don't let the soft-skins hear you say that."

Peter snorted. "Of course not." He got up and stretched. It had been a very long day. "See you tomorrow?"

"Of course."

Peter went home, but he couldn't relax. His gut was still twitching about the situation at Sing-Sing. It didn't take much research to discover just how deeply HFHO was embedded within the prison administration. It seemed that Haskley wasn't quite the ineffectual boob he'd appeared to be. According to Hatewatch, he was a fairly high-ranking member of the pro-Human hate group, stopping just short of advocating all-out war against the Draconis.

Until he could get him out of Sing-Sing, Neal was at risk. There were Kin amongst the guards and Peter made certain they knew about his claim and would protect Caffrey.

Shortly after he got to the office the next morning, Peter was notified that the anklet he'd ordered would be delivered within the hour. Peter was relieved, he figured that Neal would try to transform, and as soon as the No-Flight was out of his system, he just might succeed. The tracker would give him a constant status of Neal's well-being. The soft-skins might not know what the tracker's primary purpose was, but it would make his claim on Neal obvious. Even HFHO adherents would be reluctant to interfere with a Dracon's hoard.

Stifling a yawn, Peter gave thanks to the soft-skins who had discovered the wonders of coffee. Peter knew well from all the years of chasing him that Neal shared his love for puzzles and codes and has stayed up for most of the night setting up the game for Neal. He needed to keep this young Dracon occupied as much as possible and didn't want him obsessing over Kate or getting into trouble because he was bored. He also needed a way to communicate with Neal without the Humans learning.

The message he sent; however, was deadly serious.

"Peter?" Clinton interrupted his musings.

"Yes?"

"I have the information you wanted on Kate Moreau. We were able to track her movements for the past three years."

"Find anything interesting?"

Clinton handed him the folder. "Yeah, very."

Peter was a bit startled by the intensity in the young Dracon's tone and he opened the folder. Since Neal had been convicted and sent to prison, Kate Moreau had been employed as a server at the Blue Ground Cafe on Linden Boulevard in Brooklyn. She lived three blocks away from the coffee shop, on the third floor of the Cooper Building, a grandiose name for an old office building that had been overlooked by the wave of gentrification that had overtaken most of Brooklyn.

Peter knew the neighborhood all too well. David Siegel had been found dead just a block away from there.

The coincidence sent his gut churning. No, he didn't like Kate Moreau. He hadn't liked her when he used her as a stalking horse to capture Neal, and he liked her even less knowing the claim she seemed to have on Neal's soul. Seeing her reaction to Neal's outburst in the prison video had cemented that dislike.

Clinton was still standing there, but he looked like he wanted to bolt.

"What do you think?"

Clinton shook his head. "I don't like the coincidence, but how can it be anything but a coincidence? Nothing we know about David Siegel would suggest that he knew Neal's girlfriend."

Peter tapped the folder. "This makes me uncomfortable."

"And your discomfort is not healthy for any of us."

Peter had to laugh. "I'm okay."

Clinton grimaced, as if that was debatable. "Do you want me to check this out?"

"Yeah, but don't go alone and if Kate's there, make sure she doesn't see you. Chances are she might recognize you." Clinton had been the one to slap the cuffs on Neal that last day.

"I'll take Diana with me."

"Good choice. And both of you be careful."

"We'll be as careful as you'd be."

"And that's what worries me." Peter shooed Clinton out of his office with a laugh and watched as he corralled Diana and then headed out.

But this tenuous connection between Kate Moreau and David Siegel's death was no laughing matter. He was about to check a very particular database when Hughes came into his office. The Dracon hadn't bothered to knock.

"Reese?"

"I'm shutting you down, Peter."

He blinked in confusion. "Shutting me down? What do you mean?"

"You're digging into Kate Moreau. You need to stop."

"Why?"

"Isn't it enough that I'm asking you to?"

"Frankly, no. Kate works and lives a few blocks from where David was killed. I know the odds are slim, but she might be involved."

"The odds are more than very slim. I'd say they're non-existent. You can't afford to be distracted by this old business, Peter."

His friend's words made sense, but Peter could hear what wasn't being said. The lies of omission were making his scales rattle. "Caffrey won't be out for another three months, Reese. A lot can happen between now and then."

"I know, and I also know that you are going to be walking a very fine line with Caffrey. He's Dracon and has to be treated as such. You can't just stamp "mine" on his backside and expect everyone to acknowledge your claim."

Peter knew that. "And that's why I'm looking into Kate Moreau. She has a very strong hold on him – I can't break it if I don't understand it."

Hughes shook his head. "Kate Moreau is a non-issue at this point. What's important are your responsibilities to your clan and to this new Kin. He will need protection and training. Caffrey's never been good with rules and laws and that anklet won't contain him forever."

"I know that, but – "

Hughes held up a hand, forestalling his next words. "No buts, Peter. You need to go see Elizabeth and get her permission for your intentions. And you need to come up with a working plan for Caffrey. Dicking around about Kate Moreau is a waste of time and resources."

Peter didn't agree, but he could no more disobey Hughes than he could transform himself into a fluffy bunny. "If I go see Elizabeth, I'll be gone for the better part of a week. She'll want the whole deal from me."

"I know that. It's her right and you do owe her."

Peter knew just what he owed Elizabeth and it was a duty he never minded fulfilling, but with Neal in jeopardy, he didn't want the distraction of a mating flight.

But he didn't have a choice, it seemed. Hughes continued, "Remember, Peter, a few days ago, you were about to head out for a month's leave. The only thing that's different now is you've got Caffrey to consider. I'll take care of your caseload."

Peter sighed, unable to disagree, but still too unwilling to give in.

"I called Elizabeth. She's expecting you for dinner, so you'd better get going."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The last three months of his sentence were probably the worst three months of his life, the time between his arrest and trial notwithstanding. This time, it wasn't the boredom, but the fear that was getting to him. Some of the guards – all in Halbend's crew – had taken to stalking his cell, rattling the bars with their nightsticks, fouling his food. Bobby and Leroy did the best they could, but they couldn't stand guard on him twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

Every week, Peter sent him something. The first package was always a filled-in crossword puzzle book, and Neal had to wonder if Peter kept every one that he ever owned. And then realized that it was quite likely that he did. He was Dracon, and hoarding was his nature. But wouldn't that mean he wouldn't want to part with them, either?

That question bothered Neal enough to make certain he did nothing to damage the books, just in case a very old, very powerful Dracon wanted them back.

Of course, each of the old puzzle books contained a message for him, and another book that arrived later in the week would have the key to the code. The messages were pretty much identical – don't try to transform, stay safe, watch your back, trust only Bobby and Leroy. If there was a problem, be discreet and let them know, they'd get a message to him.

The books arrived like clockwork on Mondays and Thursdays, every week. Neal kept counting down the days and as time grew short, he kept imagining some disaster. That some judge or prison official would decide that his escape attempt warranted additional prison time, or Peter decided that he was too dangerous to be let free – anklet notwithstanding. He was terrified that he was going to be spending the rest of the foreseeable future in some stone cage.

The last week came, and with it another filled in crossword puzzle book, but this time, Peter had marked out the cypher key in the catalog numbers on the title page. The message was brief, but maybe the most important one of all.

lll be there on thursday bring all the books looking forward to seeing you we have a lot of work to do it will be fun

Fun. Neal wasn't quite sure what Draconis thought was fun, but he was willing to give it a shot, if it meant staying out of prison and having a chance to find Kate.

Finally, finally, it was Thursday morning and Bobby came to take him down for his exit processing. Neal could feel the eyes of all of the convicts on him. Some were filled with hate, but most were just curious. A few even seemed happy for him. At least there was no sign of Haskley or Halbend and his crew.

The clerk gave him a clipboard with papers to sign and Neal didn't bother to read them. He pushed a bag with his clothes across the counter and Bobby blocked the clerk's view as Neal shed the hated prison orange for the very last time. He was pissed, though. He'd arrived at Sing-Sing in a hand-tailored suit and a custom made shirt. The suit jacket and shirt were gone, replaced by – of all things – a worn peacoat. At least his underwear and shoes were still there, but his socks were missing.

He'd have raised a stink, but some things weren't worth arguing about.

Bobby walked him right up to the prison gate. Despite the wintery chill in the air, Neal was sweating. Last time he had been here, everything had changed. And now, if that damned door ever opened, everything would change again.

The iron door finally opened and Neal stepped over the threshold. He was free. The sky was blue. Kate was out there, somewhere.

And Agent Peter Burke was waiting for him, leaning against a black Government-issued sedan, gold shield on his hip, and looking a hell of a lot sterner than Neal remembered from their meeting three months ago.

There was something dark and uncomfortable in Peter's eyes that told Neal that he was sailing into uncharted waters.

"Let me see it." Peter tilted his head towards Neal's leg.

Neal lifted the cuff of his pants, displaying the tracker.

"You understand how this works?"

"No, not really. I'm not really sure of anything."

Peter shook his head and gestured for him to get into the car. "You're being released into my custody."

"Not the FBI's?"

"No, mine." Peter didn't provide any further elaboration.

Neal wasn't sure he liked the sound of that. "You said something about having fun. This thing chafes my leg, by the way."

"You'll get used to it. And yes, we will have fun. You're going to work for me."

"At the FBI?"

"Yup." Peter flashed his badge at the guard in the booth and as they passed through the final prison gate, Neal let go of the breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding.

"How is that possible?"

"What?"

"Me working for you – I'm not exactly Special Agent material."

"No, not quite, but you'll make an excellent consultant."

Neal wasn't quite sure what he'd be consulting on, but he had to figure it would have something to do with white collar crime. "I know nothing about mortgage fraud."

"You'll learn. You'll also learn what it means to be Dracon."

Neal nodded.

They drove in silence for a while and Neal enjoyed the scenery. It had been a long time since he'd seen trees and birds and the river.

They were on the Taconic, heading south, when Peter broke the silence. "You'll be tempted to look for Kate. Don't."

Neal opened his mouth to deny his plans, but found he couldn't make the lie come out.

"And if you run and I catch you, and you know that I will, you're going to be spending a very long time in an underground stone cage. If you thought the last four years were difficult, the next forty will be unendurable."

"I won't run. Kate said goodbye, she meant it."

"And yet you tried to break out of prison to get to her."

"I won't make that mistake again."

"Good."

Neal leaned back against the headrest and let the flickering autumn light transport him back to happier days. He must have dozed off, because the next thing he realized was that the car had stopped moving and Peter had opened the door. "Where are we?"

"Your new home."

Neal got out and looked up. "You've got to be kidding me." He was staring at a magnificent four story beaux-arts mansion. "You have to have the wrong address."

He turned to Peter and the bastard was actually smiling at him. "No, I haven't. This place belongs to a friend of mine. You'll have your own space, some hand-me-downs, and a few chores to do to earn your keep."

"Chores?" That was the only question Neal could think to ask.

"Yeah. Wash the Jag, watch her granddaughters, help out with the light maintenance."

"Okay. I can do that." Neal was still reeling as Peter steered him up the front steps and rang the bell. A maid, who was clearly expecting them, opened the door and gestured for them to come inside.

A beautiful woman in a fur-collared suit and carrying a small dog walked into the parlor. "You must be Neal."

Neal continued to gape.

Peter made the introductions. "This is June Ellington. She and I go way back."

The woman gave Peter a mysterious smile. "At least a century, maybe more?"

Peter smiled back and his whole face was transformed. Neal was stunned and aroused.

But Peter lost the smile when he turned to Neal. "June is Dracon. She is not FBI. You piss her off, she'll eat you. And I'm not speaking metaphorically."

Neal nodded, cowed.

"Come, let me show you your new home." June headed up the stairs, which surprised Neal. He figured he'd have a "garden" apartment – something in the basement. But apparently not. They followed her up four flights and June opened the door and stepped aside.

The apartment was airy and filled with sunlight. There was a small kitchen and a bedroom area. Although his most recent accommodations could have fit in here ten times over, it wasn't very large. Just the right size for a single man with no possessions. But it was the balcony that most attracted Neal's attention.

Ignoring June, ignoring Peter, Neal went outside and simply reveled in the space. The city skyline and all its wonders beckoned.

The sound of a chair scraping against stone distracted him. Peter was sitting at the small table and he gestured for Neal to join him. There was no sign of June.

"Don't think you're going to flirt and smile your way out of this, Neal. You will find that you and June have a lot in common, but she's also impervious to your brand of charm. Your anklet is set for a two mile radius. You cross the line, I'll be all over you like a bad smell, and that's the last thing you'll want. You follow my orders, I'll be happy to give you privileges. But this partnership depends on your obedience."

Peter seemed too deadly serious for Neal to start challenging – at least right now. "How long?"

"What do you mean?"

"How long will our partnership last?"

Peter tilted his head and Neal got the feeling that he'd never contemplated that question. "How does four years sound?"

It seemed reasonable. "Do I have a choice?"

"You do, but I don't think you'll like the other options."

Neal nodded, trying to understand everything that Peter wasn't saying. "So, let me get this straight. You own me, for the next four years."

Peter smiled and again, Neal was struck by a very inappropriate arrow of desire. "You okay with that?"

He took a deep breath and simply said, "Yes."

FIN