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elrhiarhodanTitle: Return and Rebuild the Desolate Places – Chapter Twenty-Eight
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke, Mozzie, Reese Hughes, Clinton Jones, Diana Berrigan, Olivia Benson (L&O: SVU), Section Chief Bruce (McKinsey) Original Characters
Spoilers: White Collar, all of Season 5; no specific spoilers for L&O: SVU, but set in Season 15. 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 – ~3200/ ~90,000
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: Peter goes to see Neal, and Neal surprises him. Mozzie, though, is angry.
__________________
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 | Chapter Twenty-Two | Chapter Twenty-Three | Chapter Twenty-Four | Chapter Twenty-Five | Chapter Twenty-Six | Chapter Twenty-Seven
A/N: Title from Alan Hovhaness’ wind concerto, which takes it from the Old Testament. New chapters will be posted to my LJ every Thursday and to the relevant communities on Fridays.
Art bykanarek13
Sometime in Late January – Saturday Afternoon
"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?"
"No, hon. I need to do this on my own." Peter gave El a smile, but his heart wasn't in it. "I know you think that being there might soften the blow, but I don't think it will."
El looked skeptical, but she didn't press the issue. She knew he'd gotten a call from the Marshal's Service this morning after they'd talked and sort of made plans for their future - for the three of them. The Marshals didn't care about their plans, they were concerned that Neal's new tracker hadn't been activated. Peter hadn't bothered with lies or excuses, just telling them that he hadn't put it on Neal yet. When they asked why, he said it was none of their business and hung up.
The case with the tracker was sitting on the dining room table and Peter didn't even want to touch it. The contents represented so much that was wrong with the system he'd been part of, the system he'd come to loathe.
"Hon?"
"I'm okay." He put on his coat, checked the weather – it looked like it was about to snow again – found his hat and gloves, and picked up the case. He'd stop at a wine store and pick up something red and expensive for Neal. They'd share a good laugh about that before everything turned to shit. Before Neal looked at him with hatred and resentment again.
What had Neal said to him that night, when he'd gone over to the apartment with a new model tracker? He'd been so full of self-righteous anger and suspicion, full of resentment, still trying to make sense of his quick release from prison and a promotion that he didn't feel he deserved. Neal had been equally angry.
Peter made it to the door before turning back. "I don't want to do this, El. It isn't right."
"It's only temporary – you said that that woman, Landon Shepherd, is still working on getting Neal released. If there's anyone who can make that happen, it's her."
Peter nodded, trying to convince himself of that likelihood.
El kissed him. "I love you. You're doing the right thing, and Neal's going to understand that."
Peter hoped so.
He stopped at Bottle Bargains before heading into Manhattan, and found a Barolo that he thought would appeal to Neal's palate. The bottle set him back almost a hundred and fifty bucks, but it would be worth it, if just to see Neal smile.
It started to snow while he was on the Williamsburg Bridge, but after seven weeks of unending winter weather, his fellow New Yorkers were used to it and the traffic was only moderately slower than usual for a Saturday afternoon. A little after one, Peter parked half a block from the Ellington mansion, retrieved the wine bottle and debated leaving the case behind, before grabbing it and heading inside.
The housekeeper let him in and June was waiting for him, her small pug cradled in her arms. Peter was struck by an almost disorienting wave of déjà vu. "How is he?"
June gave the dog a scratch behind his ears and let him go before gesturing for him to join her in the front parlor. "He's doing okay."
"Really?"
"Yeah – at least on the outside. The visiting nurse was here and he had a minor freak-out, but I think he got over it."
"Moz is with him?"
"Yes, although he ducked out when the nurse came back. Which might be a problem."
Peter was about to ask why and then figured it out. "How often does the nurse come?"
"This week, four times a day. Once in the morning to hook up the antibiotic drip and then to disconnect it about ninety minutes later. She'll be back to administer the second dosage, leave and then come back again for the disconnection. Neal has to go back to the doctor on Friday and if all is good, the dosage will be cut down to once a day for another week and then he'll be able to go on oral antibiotics."
"The nurse told you this?" Peter was a bit surprised.
June laughed. "No, I read Neal's discharge paperwork." June's good humor turned to sadness. "Byron had needed home care like this. Eventually we just hired a live-in nurse."
"I'm sorry." June rarely talked about her late husband to him – at least like this.
"But Neal's going to get better. It's not the same situation at all. I'll be here until Neal doesn't need me anymore."
Peter shouldn't have been surprised at June's commitment, her generosity, but he was. "How about if I take the evening shift?" He was an ASAC now and for the foreseeable future. He had a capable staff and could delegate if he had to. Hell, he'd been delegating for most of the last six months, so why stop now?
June nodded. "That would be nice and I'm sure that Neal would want to see you."
After today, Peter hoped that was true. "I should head up."
The trip up those stairs never felt so long. Standing outside Neal's door, he listened for a moment, but heard nothing more than the indistinct sounds of music – it could have been Beethoven or Mozart or some composer he'd never of. He knocked gently and waited, hearing footsteps.
Mozzie opened the door. "Ah, Suit. Welcome."
Peter was a little startled at Moz's overt friendliness but he took advantage of it and entered the apartment. Neal was sitting at the table, morosely toying with a plate of food. He looked up and gave him a smile. "Hey, Peter."
If it wasn't for the bandages around his throat, the shaggy hair and dark circles around his eyes, this might have been just another morning when he'd arrived too early for Neal's convenience. Except that it was midday Saturday and Neal had just gotten out of the hospital.
"Neal." Peter sat down at the table as if it was just another ordinary day. He put the case on the floor, the bottle on the table, and helped himself to some coffee. "Everything looks good. A hell of a lot better than hospital food."
"Yeah." Neal ran his fork through the contents of his plate – which might have been seafood salad – before taking a small bite. "Definitely better."
"Whatcha got there, Suit?" Mozzie tapped his foot against the case and Neal leaned over to see. Peter used his foot to slide the case under the table. "Something I have to deal with." Not quite a lie. "I think you might be more interested in this." He pushed the bag with the wine over to Neal.
As he hoped, Neal laughed. "Are you kidding me? A 1998 Barolo? A Luciano Sandrone Nebbiolo? I'm very impressed, Peter. Very impressed. Quite a step up from what you usually bring over."
"It even has a cork."
Moz grabbed the bottle out of his hands and examined it. "It might actually be the real thing."
Peter looked at the man and shook his head. "Yes, you'd know all about re-corking, wouldn't you?"
"I admit to nothing, Suit."
They chatted for a bit, about nothing in particular. It was both ordinary and extremely awkward. Peter had half-hoped that Moz would take himself off, so he could have this confrontation with Neal in private.
Neal interrupted his thoughts. "What's with the sigh?"
Peter gave Neal a wry smile. "I wish I didn't have to do this." He looked at Neal and then at Moz. Moz seemed puzzled but Neal had a look of anticipation on his face.
"Do what, Suit?"
Peter reached under the table and retrieved the box. "This. I'm sorry, Neal." He opened the case and the tracker was in there, waiting for activation. "I don't want to put this on you."
Neal surprised him again. "Why not?"
"You don't deserve this. You deserve your freedom – now more than ever. This is just wrong."
Moz, practically vibrating with anger, asked, "Then why are you doing it?"
"Because I have to. The Marshals have been asking me why it's not activated yet."
Neal said, "You've had this since Thursday. You had it when you were with me in the hospital."
"Yes. Bruce gave it to me when he delivered the news that you were not going back to prison."
"I don't understand. Why didn't you put it on me then?"
"Because it's wrong!" Peter's temper snapped. "This is wrong." He wanted to take the tracker and toss it into the river.
Moz demanded, "Then why are you here with it?"
"Moz, it's okay." Neal made a calming gesture with his hand.
That didn't work and Peter snapped, "No, it's not." Moz uttered those words at the same time Peter did.
"Guys, please." Neal reached over and took the tracker out of the box. "It's okay, it's really okay." Peter was about to start arguing again, but Neal cut him off. "I'm a sick man, remember."
Moz's outrage escalated. "How can you joke about this?"
"Because it's not worth arguing about. It's another six months, right?"
Peter nodded. He didn't want to get Neal's hopes up, but if Landon came through, it could be a lot less.
"It's not like I'm going anywhere, Moz."
The little guy nodded but he was still radiating anger. "I don't like it."
"It's not for you to like or dislike." Neal was the voice of reason, but Peter could see the anxiety in his eyes.
"Hrumph." Moz stared at both of them, and Peter thought that he was lucky that Moz liked violence even less than Neal did. "I'm going to go out for a bit, if just so I don't have to witness this abomination."
Moz slammed the door as he left and Neal chuckled. "He does know how to make an exit. I'm kind of surprised he didn't grab the wine on his way out."
"Maybe he doesn't trust it not to have Fed cooties." Peter tilted his head and looked at Neal. Really looked at him. Beneath the healing bruises and the lack of attention to grooming, Peter saw something new. Something that hadn't even been there when he first came in. He wasn't sure what it was, but it gave him hope.
"You really don't mind putting the tracker on?"
"No, not really."
"Can I ask why?"
Neal sighed. "When I was in the hospital, there was a Marshal on the door."
"For your protection."
"And to make sure I wasn't going anywhere." He put the tracker back down.
"As if you'd…"
Neal held up a hand, cutting him off. "As things became clearer in my head, after they stopped sedating me, I was glad that there was someone on the door. It meant…" Neal didn't meet his eyes.
"It meant what?"
"It meant that you knew where I was. It meant that I was safe."
Peter sat there, stunned into speechlessness.
"I know what you're thinking. That the tracker won't keep me safe – it's just a bit of plastic that can be cut off with gardening shears. I did it when you signaled me to run. Cowboy Boots did it when he grabbed me."
Peter wondered just what it cost Neal to refer to his kidnapping like that.
Neal continued. "But last night, when I was lying here, alone in my own bed, in a place that has nothing but good memories for me, I couldn't sleep. I felt lost, untethered."
He slowly got up and retrieved something from the bed – a too-familiar stuffed bear, with an oversized button eye and a brass name tag. "I asked Moz to sleep on the couch because I couldn't stop worrying that I'd disappear and no one would find me again. This helped me sleep, a little. This – " Neal touched the tracker, "will help me sleep. A lot."
Peter swallowed hard and tried not to cry. "I didn't want this for you. I wanted you to have your freedom. To do what you want, wherever you want to be."
"Even to rob the Louvre?"
He wiped his eyes. "Even that, Neal. I want you alive and healthy and happy. I want you to have your freedom."
"I am free. This thing doesn't mean I'm not free. I know what it's like to be really chained up. This is nothing like that." Neal picked up the tracker and before Peter could get up and walk around the table, he put it on himself. The lock engaged with a snap and there was a tiny musical beep from the activation.
"Can you check to see that it's online?" Neal looked up at him with such pleading in his eyes that Peter thought he'd do anything to make that look go away.
So he checked his smartphone. "Damn it." The app was asking for information he didn't have.
"What's the matter?"
"I need the new tracker number." He dropped to his knees before Neal and fished out his keys.
Neal asked, "If you don't have the tracker number, how will your key work?"
"It's a new key." Peter had put it on his key ring when he'd gotten the call from the Marshals this morning; he'd entertained the idea of wearing the tracker himself, except that he'd have to deal with the radius. He unlocked the anklet, located the serial number and programmed it into his phone. Then he reluctantly closed the tracker around Neal's ankle.
"Is it working now?"
Peter got up and paced for a few moments. "Yeah, it's online. You're at 79 Riverside Drive, New York, New York."
"Right where I'm supposed to be."
Peter took a deep breath, relieved that Neal wasn't angry about the tracker, but worried that he actually wanted to wear it. "I won't let anything happen to you – not again. Never again."
"I know. I've always known that. You've done your best for me; I've just been the one to mess things up."
"No, Neal." Even as the words left his mouth, he knew they were untrue.
And Neal called him on it. "Come on, Peter. Do I have to run through the list of all the times I fucked up? All the times you covered for me? Protected me?"
Peter shook his head. "No, there's really no need to rehash ancient history."
"No, I guess not." Neal changed the subject. "How's Elizabeth?"
"Good, very good. Worried about you, of course."
"The two of you are okay?"
"Yeah, we are."
"This time, I believe you."
"This time, I believe myself. We talked, finally." This wasn't the time to tell Neal his plans, particularly about his future after the FBI. Neal didn't need that burden.
"You and me – we keep secrets from each other all the time. It's what we do. You and Elizabeth – you can't do that."
Neal sounded so damn earnest, Peter had to laugh. "Okay, Dr. Phil – thank you for the relationship advice."
Neal laughed, too. "God, that brings me back."
"That first night."
"Yup. You were such a dick."
"Neal!" Peter was a little outraged, but he knew it was true. He'd been less than sympathetic about Neal's infatuation with Kate and hadn't hesitated to show it.
"Well, you were."
"I apologized."
"Yes, you did, but you were still a dick."
"Yeah. You're right, I was."
"It's okay." Neal looked down at his hands. "That didn't work out too well. There were times – when I was … when things were really bad, I wished I'd been on that plane when it blew up."
"I'm sorry." Peter didn't know what else to say.
"For what? Holding me back? No, I don't think so. And I'm not sorry you did. I lived, I survived. I'll get better."
Something eased inside Peter, a hard knot of worry. Neal's ability to talk about what had happened to him, even in such a halting fashion, had to be a good sign. And that he was laughing about their shared past was a good thing, too. Maybe they would be all right. Maybe Neal would – eventually – be able to heal.
"I talked to June before I came upstairs. She told me about your visiting nurse schedule. I'm thinking that I can be here around five every day, when she comes. Keep you company – or better yet, you can keep me company. We can have dinner, watch some television. With El in D.C., the evenings are long."
"I could help you solve whatever case you happened to be stuck on."
"That, too. If you want."
"I don't need a minder, Peter."
Rather than making excuses, Peter gave Neal the unvarnished truth. "No, not a minder, but I think you'd do better if you aren't alone all day and if you aren't by yourself when the nurse is here. Not that I think that the nurse will hurt you – but for your own peace of mind. Moz isn't too good with the medical stuff and even though June said she'd be here, I think I should be here, too."
The gratitude in Neal's eyes was enough to break his heart, if it hadn't been broken already. "If you're sure."
"I'm sure."
"Then, okay. Maybe I can have Ida – the nurse – come around five thirty, instead of five. So you don't have to leave early."
"I'm ASAC, I can come and go as I please."
"Come on, Peter – as if you're actually ever off the clock."
Peter wasn't going to mention just how off the clock he'd been for the past six months. "I don't suppose you can have this right now." He nodded towards the wine bottle. "Not with the antibiotics."
"Nope, but soon. It should rest for a while, too." At that, Neal let out a prodigious yawn.
"And speaking of resting…"
"That does sound good." Neal leveraged himself against the table and got to his feet. Peter tried not to seem like he was hovering, but of course he was, as he followed Neal into the bedroom area.
"Can I get you anything?"
"Nah."
"The bear?" Peter glanced back at the table, where Mozart sat next to the bottle of Barolo.
Neal eased down on the bed with a sigh. "No, I think I can give him back to Moz. I have my own security blanket, now." He wiggled his ankle.
"I'll stay for a little while, okay?" Peter turned off the lamp next to the bed.
"Yeah, that's good."
He went over to the couch and found a paperback romance opened on one of the cushions. The cover had a male model with improbable muscles and long flowing hair and a woman, with equally improbable breasts and flowing hair just a tad longer. Peter wondered if it was Mozzie or June who had left this behind.
He put the book to one side, took out his smart phone, turned it on mute, and played a few games of Angry Birds until Neal's breathing had evened out, signaling that he'd fallen into a deep, restful sleep.
Moz was waiting for him at the base of the staircase, practically vibrating with anger and blocking the path to the door. "You are a piece of work, you know that?"
Peter sighed. "I didn't want to put it on him, you know that."
"But you did, anyway."
"I didn't have a choice, Moz."
"There's always a choice, Suit. You just picked the wrong one."
He scrubbed his face, suddenly weary beyond belief. "I'm trying to get Neal's sentence commuted. This is only temporary."
"Like the last time? Your promises regarding Neal's freedom are not very reliable."
"Moz, please." Peter was begging.
"No, you can't placate me. You've done your best to destroy that man upstairs. You've almost succeeded. He actually wants that damn anklet now."
Peter supposed, from Moz's point of view, that nothing could possibly be worse. "I'm sorry. Sorrier than you'll ever understand."
"Words, Suit. Just words."
Peter was about to walk away when he was struck with an idea. It might mean the end of everything, but it might be the only way he'd be able to live with himself. He pulled his keys out of his pocket and unclipped the tracker key.
"No, not just words." He handed the key to Moz. "Give Neal a chance to heal – going on the run in the state he's in isn't wise. He shouldn't fly for a few more weeks, not with the lung injuries. If you're patient, if Neal can be patient, he can leave New York as a free man. If you get him out now, he's always going to be looking over his shoulder."
"Then why are you giving this to me?" Moz closed his fist over the key.
"Because I want you to know that I keep my promises. If something happens and things get fucked up again, I want you to take him and run as far and as fast as you can. The only thing I ask is that you keep him safe and well and out of trouble." Peter felt a little sick at what he'd just done, but he also felt that he'd finally done the right thing.
Moz, though, still had his suspicions. "All it takes is one call and you can have the key reprogrammed."
Peter mentally smacked himself – he hadn't thought of that. "True, but there comes a point when you're either going to have to trust me or you're not. This isn't a scene out of The Princess Bride. You can go upstairs, convince Neal to take the tracker off and spend the next few weeks moving it around the city until Neal's well enough to leave. Or you can rely on my promise not to have the key reprogrammed."
Some of the hostility faded from Moz's expression. "I'll take your position under advisement. If Neal wants to stay, we'll stay. If he wants to go, we'll go. I won't push him to do anything he doesn't want to do, but I can be persuasive."
Peter understood. "I know. But as long as you do what's really best for Neal, I have nothing more to say."
Moz gave him a terse nod and stepped aside, giving Peter a clear path to the door. If it was only that simple.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Neal looked at the key Moz gave him.
Once upon a time, he wouldn't have hesitated to use it. Once upon a time, he would have run and damned the consequences.
Or maybe not.
He'd had a key like this once upon a time and he hadn't used it then – at least not to run.
Moz would never understand, but the tracker wasn't a shackle or an unbearable weight. Not anymore. Right now, it was a lifeline. Neal hadn't lied to Peter. He needed to know that Peter could always find him. Would always find him. No matter what.
Nothing else mattered.
TO BE CONTINUED - Go to Chapter 29
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 – ~3200/ ~90,000
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: Peter goes to see Neal, and Neal surprises him. Mozzie, though, is angry.
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 | Chapter Twenty-Two | Chapter Twenty-Three | Chapter Twenty-Four | Chapter Twenty-Five | Chapter Twenty-Six | Chapter Twenty-Seven
A/N: Title from Alan Hovhaness’ wind concerto, which takes it from the Old Testament. New chapters will be posted to my LJ every Thursday and to the relevant communities on Fridays.
Art by
kanarek13Sometime in Late January – Saturday Afternoon
"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?"
"No, hon. I need to do this on my own." Peter gave El a smile, but his heart wasn't in it. "I know you think that being there might soften the blow, but I don't think it will."
El looked skeptical, but she didn't press the issue. She knew he'd gotten a call from the Marshal's Service this morning after they'd talked and sort of made plans for their future - for the three of them. The Marshals didn't care about their plans, they were concerned that Neal's new tracker hadn't been activated. Peter hadn't bothered with lies or excuses, just telling them that he hadn't put it on Neal yet. When they asked why, he said it was none of their business and hung up.
The case with the tracker was sitting on the dining room table and Peter didn't even want to touch it. The contents represented so much that was wrong with the system he'd been part of, the system he'd come to loathe.
"Hon?"
"I'm okay." He put on his coat, checked the weather – it looked like it was about to snow again – found his hat and gloves, and picked up the case. He'd stop at a wine store and pick up something red and expensive for Neal. They'd share a good laugh about that before everything turned to shit. Before Neal looked at him with hatred and resentment again.
What had Neal said to him that night, when he'd gone over to the apartment with a new model tracker? He'd been so full of self-righteous anger and suspicion, full of resentment, still trying to make sense of his quick release from prison and a promotion that he didn't feel he deserved. Neal had been equally angry.
You know, it's scary. It feels strange when it's not on. Like I'm missing something. That's how used to it I've gotten.
Peter made it to the door before turning back. "I don't want to do this, El. It isn't right."
"It's only temporary – you said that that woman, Landon Shepherd, is still working on getting Neal released. If there's anyone who can make that happen, it's her."
Peter nodded, trying to convince himself of that likelihood.
El kissed him. "I love you. You're doing the right thing, and Neal's going to understand that."
Peter hoped so.
He stopped at Bottle Bargains before heading into Manhattan, and found a Barolo that he thought would appeal to Neal's palate. The bottle set him back almost a hundred and fifty bucks, but it would be worth it, if just to see Neal smile.
It started to snow while he was on the Williamsburg Bridge, but after seven weeks of unending winter weather, his fellow New Yorkers were used to it and the traffic was only moderately slower than usual for a Saturday afternoon. A little after one, Peter parked half a block from the Ellington mansion, retrieved the wine bottle and debated leaving the case behind, before grabbing it and heading inside.
The housekeeper let him in and June was waiting for him, her small pug cradled in her arms. Peter was struck by an almost disorienting wave of déjà vu. "How is he?"
June gave the dog a scratch behind his ears and let him go before gesturing for him to join her in the front parlor. "He's doing okay."
"Really?"
"Yeah – at least on the outside. The visiting nurse was here and he had a minor freak-out, but I think he got over it."
"Moz is with him?"
"Yes, although he ducked out when the nurse came back. Which might be a problem."
Peter was about to ask why and then figured it out. "How often does the nurse come?"
"This week, four times a day. Once in the morning to hook up the antibiotic drip and then to disconnect it about ninety minutes later. She'll be back to administer the second dosage, leave and then come back again for the disconnection. Neal has to go back to the doctor on Friday and if all is good, the dosage will be cut down to once a day for another week and then he'll be able to go on oral antibiotics."
"The nurse told you this?" Peter was a bit surprised.
June laughed. "No, I read Neal's discharge paperwork." June's good humor turned to sadness. "Byron had needed home care like this. Eventually we just hired a live-in nurse."
"I'm sorry." June rarely talked about her late husband to him – at least like this.
"But Neal's going to get better. It's not the same situation at all. I'll be here until Neal doesn't need me anymore."
Peter shouldn't have been surprised at June's commitment, her generosity, but he was. "How about if I take the evening shift?" He was an ASAC now and for the foreseeable future. He had a capable staff and could delegate if he had to. Hell, he'd been delegating for most of the last six months, so why stop now?
June nodded. "That would be nice and I'm sure that Neal would want to see you."
After today, Peter hoped that was true. "I should head up."
The trip up those stairs never felt so long. Standing outside Neal's door, he listened for a moment, but heard nothing more than the indistinct sounds of music – it could have been Beethoven or Mozart or some composer he'd never of. He knocked gently and waited, hearing footsteps.
Mozzie opened the door. "Ah, Suit. Welcome."
Peter was a little startled at Moz's overt friendliness but he took advantage of it and entered the apartment. Neal was sitting at the table, morosely toying with a plate of food. He looked up and gave him a smile. "Hey, Peter."
If it wasn't for the bandages around his throat, the shaggy hair and dark circles around his eyes, this might have been just another morning when he'd arrived too early for Neal's convenience. Except that it was midday Saturday and Neal had just gotten out of the hospital.
"Neal." Peter sat down at the table as if it was just another ordinary day. He put the case on the floor, the bottle on the table, and helped himself to some coffee. "Everything looks good. A hell of a lot better than hospital food."
"Yeah." Neal ran his fork through the contents of his plate – which might have been seafood salad – before taking a small bite. "Definitely better."
"Whatcha got there, Suit?" Mozzie tapped his foot against the case and Neal leaned over to see. Peter used his foot to slide the case under the table. "Something I have to deal with." Not quite a lie. "I think you might be more interested in this." He pushed the bag with the wine over to Neal.
As he hoped, Neal laughed. "Are you kidding me? A 1998 Barolo? A Luciano Sandrone Nebbiolo? I'm very impressed, Peter. Very impressed. Quite a step up from what you usually bring over."
"It even has a cork."
Moz grabbed the bottle out of his hands and examined it. "It might actually be the real thing."
Peter looked at the man and shook his head. "Yes, you'd know all about re-corking, wouldn't you?"
"I admit to nothing, Suit."
They chatted for a bit, about nothing in particular. It was both ordinary and extremely awkward. Peter had half-hoped that Moz would take himself off, so he could have this confrontation with Neal in private.
Neal interrupted his thoughts. "What's with the sigh?"
Peter gave Neal a wry smile. "I wish I didn't have to do this." He looked at Neal and then at Moz. Moz seemed puzzled but Neal had a look of anticipation on his face.
"Do what, Suit?"
Peter reached under the table and retrieved the box. "This. I'm sorry, Neal." He opened the case and the tracker was in there, waiting for activation. "I don't want to put this on you."
Neal surprised him again. "Why not?"
"You don't deserve this. You deserve your freedom – now more than ever. This is just wrong."
Moz, practically vibrating with anger, asked, "Then why are you doing it?"
"Because I have to. The Marshals have been asking me why it's not activated yet."
Neal said, "You've had this since Thursday. You had it when you were with me in the hospital."
"Yes. Bruce gave it to me when he delivered the news that you were not going back to prison."
"I don't understand. Why didn't you put it on me then?"
"Because it's wrong!" Peter's temper snapped. "This is wrong." He wanted to take the tracker and toss it into the river.
Moz demanded, "Then why are you here with it?"
"Moz, it's okay." Neal made a calming gesture with his hand.
That didn't work and Peter snapped, "No, it's not." Moz uttered those words at the same time Peter did.
"Guys, please." Neal reached over and took the tracker out of the box. "It's okay, it's really okay." Peter was about to start arguing again, but Neal cut him off. "I'm a sick man, remember."
Moz's outrage escalated. "How can you joke about this?"
"Because it's not worth arguing about. It's another six months, right?"
Peter nodded. He didn't want to get Neal's hopes up, but if Landon came through, it could be a lot less.
"It's not like I'm going anywhere, Moz."
The little guy nodded but he was still radiating anger. "I don't like it."
"It's not for you to like or dislike." Neal was the voice of reason, but Peter could see the anxiety in his eyes.
"Hrumph." Moz stared at both of them, and Peter thought that he was lucky that Moz liked violence even less than Neal did. "I'm going to go out for a bit, if just so I don't have to witness this abomination."
Moz slammed the door as he left and Neal chuckled. "He does know how to make an exit. I'm kind of surprised he didn't grab the wine on his way out."
"Maybe he doesn't trust it not to have Fed cooties." Peter tilted his head and looked at Neal. Really looked at him. Beneath the healing bruises and the lack of attention to grooming, Peter saw something new. Something that hadn't even been there when he first came in. He wasn't sure what it was, but it gave him hope.
"You really don't mind putting the tracker on?"
"No, not really."
"Can I ask why?"
Neal sighed. "When I was in the hospital, there was a Marshal on the door."
"For your protection."
"And to make sure I wasn't going anywhere." He put the tracker back down.
"As if you'd…"
Neal held up a hand, cutting him off. "As things became clearer in my head, after they stopped sedating me, I was glad that there was someone on the door. It meant…" Neal didn't meet his eyes.
"It meant what?"
"It meant that you knew where I was. It meant that I was safe."
Peter sat there, stunned into speechlessness.
"I know what you're thinking. That the tracker won't keep me safe – it's just a bit of plastic that can be cut off with gardening shears. I did it when you signaled me to run. Cowboy Boots did it when he grabbed me."
Peter wondered just what it cost Neal to refer to his kidnapping like that.
Neal continued. "But last night, when I was lying here, alone in my own bed, in a place that has nothing but good memories for me, I couldn't sleep. I felt lost, untethered."
He slowly got up and retrieved something from the bed – a too-familiar stuffed bear, with an oversized button eye and a brass name tag. "I asked Moz to sleep on the couch because I couldn't stop worrying that I'd disappear and no one would find me again. This helped me sleep, a little. This – " Neal touched the tracker, "will help me sleep. A lot."
Peter swallowed hard and tried not to cry. "I didn't want this for you. I wanted you to have your freedom. To do what you want, wherever you want to be."
"Even to rob the Louvre?"
He wiped his eyes. "Even that, Neal. I want you alive and healthy and happy. I want you to have your freedom."
"I am free. This thing doesn't mean I'm not free. I know what it's like to be really chained up. This is nothing like that." Neal picked up the tracker and before Peter could get up and walk around the table, he put it on himself. The lock engaged with a snap and there was a tiny musical beep from the activation.
"Can you check to see that it's online?" Neal looked up at him with such pleading in his eyes that Peter thought he'd do anything to make that look go away.
So he checked his smartphone. "Damn it." The app was asking for information he didn't have.
"What's the matter?"
"I need the new tracker number." He dropped to his knees before Neal and fished out his keys.
Neal asked, "If you don't have the tracker number, how will your key work?"
"It's a new key." Peter had put it on his key ring when he'd gotten the call from the Marshals this morning; he'd entertained the idea of wearing the tracker himself, except that he'd have to deal with the radius. He unlocked the anklet, located the serial number and programmed it into his phone. Then he reluctantly closed the tracker around Neal's ankle.
"Is it working now?"
Peter got up and paced for a few moments. "Yeah, it's online. You're at 79 Riverside Drive, New York, New York."
"Right where I'm supposed to be."
Peter took a deep breath, relieved that Neal wasn't angry about the tracker, but worried that he actually wanted to wear it. "I won't let anything happen to you – not again. Never again."
"I know. I've always known that. You've done your best for me; I've just been the one to mess things up."
"No, Neal." Even as the words left his mouth, he knew they were untrue.
And Neal called him on it. "Come on, Peter. Do I have to run through the list of all the times I fucked up? All the times you covered for me? Protected me?"
Peter shook his head. "No, there's really no need to rehash ancient history."
"No, I guess not." Neal changed the subject. "How's Elizabeth?"
"Good, very good. Worried about you, of course."
"The two of you are okay?"
"Yeah, we are."
"This time, I believe you."
"This time, I believe myself. We talked, finally." This wasn't the time to tell Neal his plans, particularly about his future after the FBI. Neal didn't need that burden.
"You and me – we keep secrets from each other all the time. It's what we do. You and Elizabeth – you can't do that."
Neal sounded so damn earnest, Peter had to laugh. "Okay, Dr. Phil – thank you for the relationship advice."
Neal laughed, too. "God, that brings me back."
"That first night."
"Yup. You were such a dick."
"Neal!" Peter was a little outraged, but he knew it was true. He'd been less than sympathetic about Neal's infatuation with Kate and hadn't hesitated to show it.
"Well, you were."
"I apologized."
"Yes, you did, but you were still a dick."
"Yeah. You're right, I was."
"It's okay." Neal looked down at his hands. "That didn't work out too well. There were times – when I was … when things were really bad, I wished I'd been on that plane when it blew up."
"I'm sorry." Peter didn't know what else to say.
"For what? Holding me back? No, I don't think so. And I'm not sorry you did. I lived, I survived. I'll get better."
Something eased inside Peter, a hard knot of worry. Neal's ability to talk about what had happened to him, even in such a halting fashion, had to be a good sign. And that he was laughing about their shared past was a good thing, too. Maybe they would be all right. Maybe Neal would – eventually – be able to heal.
"I talked to June before I came upstairs. She told me about your visiting nurse schedule. I'm thinking that I can be here around five every day, when she comes. Keep you company – or better yet, you can keep me company. We can have dinner, watch some television. With El in D.C., the evenings are long."
"I could help you solve whatever case you happened to be stuck on."
"That, too. If you want."
"I don't need a minder, Peter."
Rather than making excuses, Peter gave Neal the unvarnished truth. "No, not a minder, but I think you'd do better if you aren't alone all day and if you aren't by yourself when the nurse is here. Not that I think that the nurse will hurt you – but for your own peace of mind. Moz isn't too good with the medical stuff and even though June said she'd be here, I think I should be here, too."
The gratitude in Neal's eyes was enough to break his heart, if it hadn't been broken already. "If you're sure."
"I'm sure."
"Then, okay. Maybe I can have Ida – the nurse – come around five thirty, instead of five. So you don't have to leave early."
"I'm ASAC, I can come and go as I please."
"Come on, Peter – as if you're actually ever off the clock."
Peter wasn't going to mention just how off the clock he'd been for the past six months. "I don't suppose you can have this right now." He nodded towards the wine bottle. "Not with the antibiotics."
"Nope, but soon. It should rest for a while, too." At that, Neal let out a prodigious yawn.
"And speaking of resting…"
"That does sound good." Neal leveraged himself against the table and got to his feet. Peter tried not to seem like he was hovering, but of course he was, as he followed Neal into the bedroom area.
"Can I get you anything?"
"Nah."
"The bear?" Peter glanced back at the table, where Mozart sat next to the bottle of Barolo.
Neal eased down on the bed with a sigh. "No, I think I can give him back to Moz. I have my own security blanket, now." He wiggled his ankle.
"I'll stay for a little while, okay?" Peter turned off the lamp next to the bed.
"Yeah, that's good."
He went over to the couch and found a paperback romance opened on one of the cushions. The cover had a male model with improbable muscles and long flowing hair and a woman, with equally improbable breasts and flowing hair just a tad longer. Peter wondered if it was Mozzie or June who had left this behind.
He put the book to one side, took out his smart phone, turned it on mute, and played a few games of Angry Birds until Neal's breathing had evened out, signaling that he'd fallen into a deep, restful sleep.
Moz was waiting for him at the base of the staircase, practically vibrating with anger and blocking the path to the door. "You are a piece of work, you know that?"
Peter sighed. "I didn't want to put it on him, you know that."
"But you did, anyway."
"I didn't have a choice, Moz."
"There's always a choice, Suit. You just picked the wrong one."
He scrubbed his face, suddenly weary beyond belief. "I'm trying to get Neal's sentence commuted. This is only temporary."
"Like the last time? Your promises regarding Neal's freedom are not very reliable."
"Moz, please." Peter was begging.
"No, you can't placate me. You've done your best to destroy that man upstairs. You've almost succeeded. He actually wants that damn anklet now."
Peter supposed, from Moz's point of view, that nothing could possibly be worse. "I'm sorry. Sorrier than you'll ever understand."
"Words, Suit. Just words."
Peter was about to walk away when he was struck with an idea. It might mean the end of everything, but it might be the only way he'd be able to live with himself. He pulled his keys out of his pocket and unclipped the tracker key.
"No, not just words." He handed the key to Moz. "Give Neal a chance to heal – going on the run in the state he's in isn't wise. He shouldn't fly for a few more weeks, not with the lung injuries. If you're patient, if Neal can be patient, he can leave New York as a free man. If you get him out now, he's always going to be looking over his shoulder."
"Then why are you giving this to me?" Moz closed his fist over the key.
"Because I want you to know that I keep my promises. If something happens and things get fucked up again, I want you to take him and run as far and as fast as you can. The only thing I ask is that you keep him safe and well and out of trouble." Peter felt a little sick at what he'd just done, but he also felt that he'd finally done the right thing.
Moz, though, still had his suspicions. "All it takes is one call and you can have the key reprogrammed."
Peter mentally smacked himself – he hadn't thought of that. "True, but there comes a point when you're either going to have to trust me or you're not. This isn't a scene out of The Princess Bride. You can go upstairs, convince Neal to take the tracker off and spend the next few weeks moving it around the city until Neal's well enough to leave. Or you can rely on my promise not to have the key reprogrammed."
Some of the hostility faded from Moz's expression. "I'll take your position under advisement. If Neal wants to stay, we'll stay. If he wants to go, we'll go. I won't push him to do anything he doesn't want to do, but I can be persuasive."
Peter understood. "I know. But as long as you do what's really best for Neal, I have nothing more to say."
Moz gave him a terse nod and stepped aside, giving Peter a clear path to the door. If it was only that simple.
Neal looked at the key Moz gave him.
Once upon a time, he wouldn't have hesitated to use it. Once upon a time, he would have run and damned the consequences.
Or maybe not.
He'd had a key like this once upon a time and he hadn't used it then – at least not to run.
Moz would never understand, but the tracker wasn't a shackle or an unbearable weight. Not anymore. Right now, it was a lifeline. Neal hadn't lied to Peter. He needed to know that Peter could always find him. Would always find him. No matter what.
Nothing else mattered.
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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Date: 2015-05-14 06:36 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2015-05-14 07:36 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2015-05-15 08:11 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2015-05-17 11:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-05-19 02:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-05-21 01:32 am (UTC)I wasn't surprised that Neal needs to have the tracker. Mozzie's anger also isn't a surprise.
Peter? Surprised me. Is that the only key? He can't unlock Neal's anklet himself? He's gone through some big changes, if he can give up control like that!