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elrhiarhodanTitle: It Must Be Now - Part Four of Seven
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Artist:treonb / Art Post
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke, David Siegel, Diana Berrigan, Theodore "Mozzie" Winters, Theo Berrigan, Sara Ellis, Clinton Jones, Matthew Keller; Peter/Elizabeth (Past), Peter/Neal (Past), Neal/Keller (Past), Peter/Neal
Word Count: ~60,000
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Major Character Illness
Beta Credit:pooh_collector, sinfulslasher
Summary: In this alternate universe, the story opens as Peter and Elizabeth's marriage ends. Peter tries to move into a new life, but finds himself haunted by his past - a relationship with Neal Caffrey when they were both students at Harvard - and a future that might come to an end far too soon.
Author’s Note: Many, many thanks to my alpha readerstheatregirl7299 and miri_thompson, who provided an endless bounty of encouragement.
Even more thanks to my wonderful and talented artist,treonb, who created the beautiful and evocative promo video.
Title from the Annie Lennox Song "Oh God (Prayer)", which TreonB used in the vid.
__________________
Diana Berrigan had had reservations about taking a job with Sundance Equity. It wasn't that she didn't want to leave the FBI, but going to work for a financial firm that operated under the regulatory radar didn't seem quite right. Yet, Peter Burke, her mentor and a man whose judgment she trusted without question, told her that this might be the perfect opportunity for her. She'd be in a strategic position in a small, highly successful firm, and would be able to keep the company – and its principals – on the straight and narrow.
Peter had a good point – there were only about a dozen full-time employees with the company and most of the work was done by the firm's two owners. When she'd interviewed with Theodore Winters, a strange little man who wouldn't be out of place in a support group for paranoid conspiracy theorists – she'd made it clear that she wasn't going to be too interested in covering up any illegal activities. Or cleaning up any legal messes.
Winters had stared at her. At least she thought he had; the overhead fluorescent lighting had cast a glare that made it impossible to see his eyes through his glasses. Diana had liked to think of herself as a pretty good interrogator, but this guy was doing an excellent job of making her sweat. Finally, he just said, "That's fine. We have lawyers to take care of that."
"So what do you need me for? The job's for a troubleshooter."
"My partner thinks we need someone to keep us on the straight and narrow."
Diana blinked – those were the exact words that Peter had used.
Winters continued, "We get enthusiastic and sometimes our enthusiasm gets in the way of the niceties of doing business. Your job would be to rein us in when that happens."
That was something Diana thought she could do very well.
Winters had asked her a few more questions and then came the one she'd been dreading. "Why are you looking to leave the FBI? Your resume has 'lifer' written all over it."
Diana had thought long and hard about this question and decided that she had to be honest. "My wife left me when I was six months pregnant. While the Bureau's been able to accommodate my needs as a single parent, I'm still a field agent. It hasn't been an easy decision to make, but I can't keep putting myself in harm's way."
"I thought that FBI agents were mostly pencil pushers and desk jockeys these days."
Diana bit back a rather nasty reply. She did want this job, after all. "You'd be surprised at how dangerous the job gets, especially in Antiterrorism."
"Ever kill anyone?"
"Not yet, but there's still time."
"As long as you don't start with me."
Diana had chuckled and Winters' lips twitched, but that was it. She'd had the feeling this man wasn't really the laugh out loud type.
He then surprised her. "You'll do. When can you start?"
"Don't I have to interview with your partner?"
"Nah. Neal trusts my judgment."
That was two years ago, and while there had been many days when she'd wanted to tear out her hair at the collective cluelessness of Theodore "Mozart" Winters and Neal Caffrey, by and large, she'd found the work fulfilling – far more than she ever expected from a civilian job.
Today was one of those days. She was going to bring her past and her present together in a very satisfying way – introducing Mozzie and Neal to Peter Burke. Or at least Peter's firm. She'd only spoken with his admin on Monday, who couldn't confirm that Peter would be available to attend the meeting. Peter had texted her that evening, saying that he was looking forward to seeing her.
She felt the same way – it had been over a year since she'd seen him and their lines of communication had been limited to brief texts. They'd both cancelled out on dinner plans more than once, and for some reason, never rescheduled.
The firm had rolled out the red carpet for them. Instead of a box of Starbucks' over-brewed coffee, there was an honest-to-goodness Caffè Florian-trained barista manning an authentic hand-made Italian espresso machine. It wouldn't have surprised her that the brightly colored macarons had been flown in from Maison Pierre Hermé Paris that morning. Nothing but the best for a client that could be worth at least a million dollars in annual billings.
Diana tried not to smile when Mozzie was difficult and demanded tea. The barista didn't blink and offered her boss a rather extensive menu. Moz probably asked for something vile and then proceeded to pour half a carafe of milk into it. Neal – coffee snob that he was – did appreciate what was on offer, and was chatting with the barista about Venice when Peter, another partner and a few associates came into the conference room.
She went to say hello and was immediately struck by how terrible Peter looked. He'd lost so much weight that his cuffs of his suit were hanging over his fingertips. His skin was practically gray and his eyes were bloodshot. Before she could stop herself, she said, "You look like crap."
"Good to see you, too, Di."
Appalled at how bad her old friend looked, she demanded, "How did Elizabeth let you out of the house when you're so sick?" Peter turned even paler, and the associate standing behind him flushed bright red and bit her lip. Peter took her arm and guided her over to the corner. She asked, "What's going on?"
"El and I split, we've been divorced for about six months. That's all."
Diana was shocked. "That's all? You two were perfect together."
Peter growled, "Sometimes perfection isn't what it's cracked up to be. That's why she left."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Peter shrugged. "It's not something one announces out of the blue, in a text message. I figured I'd tell you when we got a chance to catch up with each other. Just didn't expect it would be this long."
Diana could understand why Peter looked like hell. Her separation and divorce from Christie still hurt and had she not been six months pregnant when her wife walked out, she might have just stopped taking care of herself, too. But this wasn't the time or place to go into such deep, personal details. "Okay, we'll talk later; let me introduce you to my bosses."
Moz was closest and Diana hoped he'd be on his best behavior. But her hopes were in vain. He wasn't, calling Peter "Suit" in that too-familiar antagonistic tone.
Peter, though, gave as good as he got, and retorted, "Thought you'd be taller."
Moz accepted the insult and conceded the battle with a wry smile. "So did I."
Diana left the two men to talk – in more congenial tones – and went to get Neal, who was now telling one of Peter's associates about the time he'd played Pai-Gow poker with some underworld hoodlum in Chinatown and the club had been raided by the NYPD. The story still had the power to make Diana wince.
"Neal, come meet my former boss." As she turned back towards Peter and Mozzie, she felt Neal stiffen. When she looked at him, he seemed completely stunned. But the expression was so fleeting, Diana thought she might have imagined it. When she made the introduction, Neal was smiling.
What she didn't imagine was the surprise on Peter's face.
But she had no time to ask questions. One of Peter's partners came over and more introductions were made, and everyone moved to the conference table for the inevitable presentation about the firm's capabilities. Peter, however, wasn't the one who spoke, and after a few minutes, he excused himself and left the room.
Mozzie was engaged in a rather spirited debate about the value of off-shoring assets with the woman giving the presentation and didn't pay attention to Peter's departure. Neal, although he looked like he was involved in the discussion, seemed at odds with himself.
Diana tried to focus on the presentation, but she couldn't shake the feeling she'd missed something vital, something that had nothing to do with mergers and acquisitions and everything to do with her current and her former boss.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Peter barely made it back to his office and his private washroom, before the nausea overtook him. Even though he hadn't eaten, he retched until he almost passed out.
He'd been stupid not to take the Compazine, but he hadn't wanted to spend another day in a thick fog, struggling to stay conscious. The side-effects of his first chemo session had been as bad as he'd been warned, but he hated the thought of giving into the illness. Staying at home and wallowing seemed like he was getting one step closer to giving into the inevitable.
Peter leaned against the commode and the cold porcelain felt good against his skin, but he couldn’t sit on the bathroom floor forever. It took some effort to get to his feet, and when he went to clean up, he saw – to his embarrassment – that he'd gotten vomit on his shirt and tie. As he stripped, the sour stench of his body odor threatened to send him heaving back over the toilet bowl. But he managed to keep control and washed himself. Fresh attire helped, as did some mouthwash, and he felt almost human by the time he left the washroom.
One of his partners, Landon Shepard, was in his office, waiting for him. Her expression was one of concern, but her body language screamed irritation. "Are you okay?"
Peter sat down at his desk and gestured for Landon to take a seat. "I've been better."
"Then why the hell are you here? Shouldn't you be home, resting?"
"The referral came from Diana Berrigan. She called me – I wanted to be here."
"A valid point, except that disappearing in the middle of a presentation doesn't really send the right message, Peter."
He gave Landon a tight smile. "Nor does vomiting all over the conference table."
"True." Landon sighed. "If Sundance signs with us, they will be your client of record. Your connection with their firm ensures that."
"I know, I know." Peter scrubbed at his face. "I just wanted to be here, though."
"And now you can go home."
"I can make it through the day, Landon."
She shook her head, clearly disgusted with him. "What do you think is going to happen if you take sick leave? You're a senior partner in this firm; you bring in a huge chunk of revenue every year. Your name should be on the door if you'd let us put it there. No one is going to think less of you for taking time off because you're sick."
Peter didn't say anything. He knew she was right.
"You have cancer, damn it."
Cancer. He wanted to cover his ears. He wanted to deny that one horrible word.
"Peter, you need to take care of yourself."
"I know that, and I am."
Landon raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Taking care of yourself? You could have fooled me." She picked up some papers and handed them to him. "This is your application for short-term leave and disability. I've had it filled out for you, just sign it and go home."
Now Peter was annoyed. "That's really pushing it. I think I know what I need to do, and taking a few months off like some helpless baby isn't it."
Landon shook her head in disgust. "For a smart man, you really are quite an idiot. If I have to take this to the partners' committee, it's not going to go your way."
Peter knew that he could be forced to take the time. "Let's see how I feel next week. I probably pushed it today, but I should be better by Monday."
"What does your doctor say?"
"That the first week after chemo is the roughest."
"And yet you're here. Letting yourself get run down. Even more run down – even the most oblivious of us could see what the radiation treatments are doing to you."
"Landon, I appreciate that you care – but I need to make my own decisions regarding my health."
"You need to make the right decisions, Peter. Which you aren't."
"It's my life. My body."
"And now you sound like my daughter who wants to get a tattoo of Justin Bieber on her shoulder."
"That comparison is ridiculous."
"No, it's not. But in her defense, she's thirteen years old and her taste in musical idols can be forgiven. You, on the other hand, are fifty, and until recently, one of the smartest, savviest people I know." Landon stood and gave him a hard look. "Don't be such a stubborn jackass. Go home, rest, take care of yourself." She didn't wait for his answer and left.
Peter sat there, unwilling – unable - to accept Landon's advice. If he left the office, if he went home, he'd be alone. There would be nothing to distract him from the fact that Neal Caffrey was back in his life.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
When they left the meeting and were on the street, waiting for their car, Moz asked Neal, "So, what do you think?"
Neal stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "They seem to know their stuff." That was pretty much all he could offer. His brain kept circling around the fact that Peter Burke was somehow back in his life.
"They certainly do – and Landon has some interesting ideas about off-shoring IP."
"Moz – you know how I feel about off-shoring. We're not in the rape and pillage business. We don't strip assets and leave companies barren. We're supposed to be responsible investors."
Moz glared at him. "Sometimes, I wish you were more ethically challenged."
"You know, I remember a time when you would have washed my mouth out with soap if I suggested a scheme that would end up hurting the little guys. You were the one who taught me right from wrong in this business."
Moz gave him another stink-eye. "It would also help if you had a less convenient memory."
Neal chuckled. "Come on, Moz. You know I'm right. We always try to do the right thing. We may be in the money business, but that doesn't make us soulless assholes."
Moz shrugged, not at all happy to be reminded of his own principles. "You're right, you're right."
Neal draped an arm around his friend's shoulder and pressed a kiss against his forehead. "We're the good guys, remember?"
"Feh – get off me." Moz gave him a gentle shove. "Just for that, I'm taking the car and heading out for the rest of the day. You two can hoof it back to the office."
Neal chuckled as Moz got into the car that just pulled up. He'd mentioned that Gina was back from California, and Neal was certain that his partner was taking off for some afternoon delight.
It was a little after four and he turned to Diana. "Feel like a drink? It's a little late to head back to the office. Or you can take off early and get home to Theo."
"No, a drink sounds good. Theo's nanny's on until seven on Wednesdays, and I wouldn't mind some adult company this evening."
Neal grinned, "I'm flattered! You finally consider me an adult."
Diana glared back at him. "For the moment yes, but if you keep telling that story about getting caught in a raid in a Chinatown gambling den, I'm going to have to ground you."
"But it's a good story."
"No, Neal – it isn't."
They bantered a bit and headed over to his favorite bistro – the same one where he'd met Elizabeth Mitchell just a week ago. They were escorted to his favorite table – the one that was perfect for people watching – and the same waiter, the one who'd flirted with him, came to take their orders.
Diana asked for a vodka and tonic and Neal ordered a glass of chardonnay. Once the waiter left, Neal made the request that had been on the tip of his tongue since they left the meeting. "Tell me about Peter Burke."
"Why? What do you want to know?"
"I thought it was kind of strange that he barely attended the presentation, and didn't say a word."
She nodded. "That was strange. When I worked for him, Peter was always the charismatic one – the one you wanted at the head of the table."
Neal had to add, "He didn't look like a well man." He knew that was an understatement.
"Yeah, I agree. We'd kind of lost touch over the last year or so, so I'm not sure what's going on."
"He didn't say anything to you before the meeting started?" Neal might have engaged the barista in conversation but almost all his attention was on Peter, and then on Diana's interaction with him. Peter had told her something. Neal had to wonder where her loyalties were, if she'd share the contents of that conversation with him.
Apparently, with him and not with her former boss. "He told me he got a divorce; that his wife left him." She shook her head. "Of all the couples – I still find it hard to believe. They had such a good marriage."
The waiter delivered their drinks and Neal was grateful for the interruption. "That's why he looks like death warmed over?" He had a feeling he knew just who Peter Burke had been married to. And Diana confirmed it.
"Maybe. Probably. Peter and Elizabeth were so close, he loved her so much. There was nothing he wouldn't do for her. And I always thought that she felt the same way about him. They were perfect together." Diana sipped her drink. "But I guess perfection is not what it's cracked up to be." Then she let out a short and bitter laugh. "And that's almost exactly what Peter told me."
"So, you think the divorce hit him hard?"
"I guess. I can't imagine what else it could be. Unless he's really sick." Diana gave him a curious look. "You seem awfully interested in his personal life."
"Well, if he's going to be providing financial advice to the firm, I need to know that he's dependable. That he's not going to push everything off onto a junior associate and disappear. Or worse."
"He wouldn't do that!" Diana's outrage was palpable. "Peter Burke is the most conscientious man I've ever met."
"But if he's sick – "
"We're hiring a firm, not just a single advisor."
"And the more people who know about our business, the more chances for leaks." Neal wasn't sure why he was intent on pushing Diana's buttons.
Except that she gave as good as she got. "I've got two words for you – 'Terrence Pratt'. He had sole control over our account at Whitcomb & White and look what happened."
Neal conceded the point, "True."
"Peter's a good man. When he left the FBI for Shepard and Franklin, he'd vetted them thoroughly. He'd said that he hadn't spent half a decade chasing terrorists through their bank accounts to go work for a company that committed financial terrorism."
Neal stared at Diana over the rim of his glass, not that he was ever able to intimidate her with a look. "I'm trusting you on this. Moz is, apparently, sold on the firm."
"You had to have formed an opinion."
"I thought Landon Shepard was smart, slick, and eager for our business. But the only reason we're considering Shepard and Franklin is because of your connection to Peter Burke, who didn't seem all that interested in courting Sundance Equity." Neal wondered where his common sense had disappeared to. If he kept pushing this button, Diana was going to see that he had more than a business interest in Peter Burke.
"I can understand your reservations. I'm worried about Peter, too – for personal reasons."
Neal nodded in understanding, but he kept a slightly skeptical expression on his face.
Which worked just as he'd hoped.
Diana tried to mollify him. "Look, let me call Peter and set up a private meeting between the two of you. Spend an hour with him – he'll answer all of your questions and I'm sure that you'll realize that he's worth your trust."
Bingo.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
By Friday, Peter felt like he was moving through a wall of sludge. His treatment schedule was grueling; he'd had only a three-day respite from the radiation therapy after his chemo and he was back to getting zapped every morning. His nausea had abated slightly and he didn't feel the need to hurl every ten minutes. Just once an hour, now. But the exhaustion was getting worse and he felt himself getting weaker every day.
Landon was right, he didn't belong at the office. He needed to be in bed, sleeping, conserving what little strength he had. His oncologist had told him that by the third chemo session, he'd need to be hospitalized – which was something he hadn't shared with Landon. But that was at least a month away.
Except that most days, he wondered if he was going to make it to that point.
"Mr. Burke?" His assistant, Blake, was at the door, a file in hand. "I have the research you asked for."
It was almost too great an effort to reach out and take what Blake was handing him.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." Maybe someday, that would be true.
Blake, a very earnest young man, didn't leave. Instead, he closed the door and sat down. "I don't think you're all right. I think you're really sick."
Peter tried to glare at him, but it didn't have the effect he was hoping for. Once, he'd have been able to make young professionals like Blake pee in their pants with just a look.
His assistant remained uncowed. "I have ears as well as eyes and I've heard you losing your cookies every day – a couple of times a day."
"I'm sorry about that." It seemed like such a lame thing to say.
"Nothing to be sorry about – but everyone's worried about you. You've been looking like you've been really sick for a long time, but it's gotten really bad this week."
Peter rested his face in his hand. Of course, he'd naively assumed that no one would notice. Which was stupid, since he barely recognized himself in a mirror.
"It's bad, isn't it?" Blake asked, his voice soft.
Peter nodded. Blake was a good guy and he deserved the truth. "Cancer." The word tasted foul in his mouth.
"I – I had hoped it wasn't that."
"You figured it out?"
"My dad had lung cancer and well…" Blake's voice trailed off.
"He didn't make it?"
Blake shook his head. "They didn't find it until it was too late. My dad was a fighter and insisted on doing everything possible – radiation and chemo and a couple of experimental treatments, too. You have the same look as he did in the early days of his treatment. In the end, though, it didn't make a difference." Blake grimaced as he said that. "But I don't think that's what you wanted to hear."
Peter hated the pity in the other man's voice, but he was grateful that Blake didn't ask about prognosis or even what type of cancer he had. "The other partners know – I had to tell them, but no one else knows. I suspect, though, that word will get out soon enough."
"Not from me!"
"No, of course not. But billing paperwork from the doctors gets sent to benefits management, and people do talk, even when they're not supposed to. It's inevitable."
"What can I do?"
"At this point, nothing more than what you've been doing. Holding down the fort here, making sure that clients get serviced, managing my calendar. I don't really think I'm going to be in the office much in the foreseeable future."
"All right, and if there's anything you want me to handle – like personal stuff – I'll be happy to do that, too. Arranging for groceries, cleaning, medical appointments. If you want to work from home, I'll be happy to bring you any files you need. You can trust me."
Peter smiled, warmed by Blake's concern. "Thank you – right now, I'm okay but if I need anything, I'll let you know."
Blake nodded. "Okay – I better get back to my desk." He got up to leave, but stopped. "I almost forgot to tell you – Diana Berrigan called. She wants to set up an appointment for you to have some facetime with Neal Caffrey, from Sundance Equity. The same guy you had me do that research on." He tilted his head toward the file on Peter's desk. "What do you want me to tell her?"
And my chickens are coming home to roost. "I'll call her back."
Blake got stubborn. "You pay me to handle things. Let me handle them."
"In other cases, yes. But Diana's an old friend, and I owe her a call, anyway."
"Okay." Before Blake shut the door behind him, he added, "I'm always available – anytime. Just ask."
Peter wasn't sure what he did to earn such loyalty. He set that question aside and stared at the folder on his desk. Blake had labeled it "Confidential Client Information" and there were instructions on the top of the folder to destroy it within ten business days – the usual precautions for these types of reports.
The folder wasn't particularly thick, which was a relief. More data on a client usually meant bad news – like legal proceedings and criminal charges. Blake was not just an administrative assistant; he was a highly skilled researcher who'd spent a few years in an intelligence service. He could find out everything about anyone.
Over the years, he'd thought about looking up information about Neal. It wouldn't have taken much to set up a search; he had Neal's birthday and even knew his social security number. But as many times as he'd started, he'd always stopped himself. When he was married, it seemed the height of disloyalty – looking up an old lover. This last year, when he didn't have that excuse anymore, he couldn't bring himself to take that step. Why disturb ghosts from the past? What could it bring him but grief?
Now, though, he had every reason to know what Neal had been doing for the last twenty-five years and he opened the file before he could talk himself out of it.
Before he'd so brutally cut Neal from his life, back when they'd planned on taking a place together in New York, Neal had received offers from a number of Wall Street firms for consulting positions. That had made sense, since Neal's field of specialty was statistics and probability theory, and he'd been touted as the next John Nash. Neal had turned down all of the offers, insisting that he wanted to take a year or two off. He'd said that he felt like he was burning out. He'd planned on being a gentleman of leisure, spending his time traveling and absorbing everything on the New York cultural scene.
But according to the data that Blake assembled, Neal had never left Cambridge. A few days after he'd driven away from the house on Sidney Street, he'd applied for a post-Doctoral fellowship at MIT and spent the next two years working with Theodore Winters – another genius – the man who was his partner at Sundance Equity.
There was a scant page of notes about Winters and a comment from Blake – Need your authorization to do some really deep digging. As far as I can find, Theodore "Mozart" Winters doesn't exist before 1983.
Peter chuckled. Maybe he'd authorize that research, just for the hell of it.
The rest of the data was fairly bland – no skeletons in the closet. Neal and Winters had left MIT and founded a small hedge fund. They'd done well until the recession in the mid-nineties, but a year later, they'd regrouped and formed Sundance Equity, focusing on rescuing and rebuilding closely held tech firms.
The company's list of successes was impressive, but that wasn't the information that Peter really wanted. He flipped through the report until he found the section on Neal's personal life, which was surprisingly boring.
Blake's research indicated that Neal had never married, and he'd had just three serious relationships since he'd left Cambridge – one woman and two men – and the last one had ended two years ago. Since then, there were about a dozen credit card payments to businesses that fronted for gay escort services. Peter found that curious. Why would a man like Neal Caffrey – wealthy, gorgeous, socially adept – need to pay for companionship?
Most of the data was fairly innocuous and provided a snapshot of a somewhat dull and worthy life. In addition to his bought and paid-for companionship, there were regular purchases from art supply stores – so it seemed that Neal had kept up with that hobby. He had accounts with a number of custom tailors – which was hardly surprising. Reading material ranged from scholarly publications in the math and business fields to art treatises to self-published gay romances. Charitable donations were tightly focused on helping community-based LGBT organizations, but there was a note that Neal, through Sundance Equity, made substantial donations to many of the city's art museums.
The report also detailed Neal's gambling activities. Despite the long-ago assertion that he didn't want to remain a professional gambler, it seemed that Neal never gave it up. He played in a dozen tournaments a year and for the last five years, had never failed to end up at a final table, and won everything approximately sixty percent of the time.
The last page had information on property Neal owned. In addition to a dozen investment properties held by various trusts traced back to Neal, he had homes in Macao, Paris, and the Cayman Islands, which Blake had noted was likely a tax haven. But based on travel and passport records, Blake concluded that for the past five years, Neal spent most of his time in New York, at the apartment he owned in the San Remo, on Central Park West. Peter had to laugh at the irony, the San Remo was just a few blocks from his own place, and he could see the two spires from his bedroom window. Before he'd gotten sick, his morning jogging route took him past the grand old building, and it was more than likely that at some point, he'd have run into Neal. Literally.
He wished he had. Encountering Neal now, when he was so diminished, seemed the worst sort of cosmic joke. Except that maybe this was just what he deserved. Maybe this disease was payback for the lie he told twenty-five years ago. This wasn't the first time he'd had that thought, but now he couldn't seem to get the idea out of his head.
Peter closed the folder and set it aside. When he left the office, he'd give it to Blake for shredding; there was nothing else in there that he needed to see.
And then the nausea, which had been absent for most of the day, returned with a vengeance. Peter took shallow breaths and held himself very still until the urge to vomit subsided. He checked his watch and realized that it was almost time for another Compazine. If he were smart, he'd pack it in for the day instead of trying to work through the drug-induced fatigue.
Today, he was going to be smart. He sent an email to Landon, letting her know that he was heading home and he called Blake back into his office.
"Sir?"
Peter smiled. Someday he'd break his assistant's habit of formality. "Thank you for the research – it was most informative." He pushed the file across the desk and Blake took it.
"No questions?"
"Nope."
Blake cleared his throat. "I did notice something."
"Oh?"
"You and Mr. Caffrey were at Harvard during the same time – he entered the doctoral program in math when you were finishing your bachelor's degree there. Did you know him?"
Peter wiped his mouth and muttered, "Excuse me." He took another steadying breath – and was actually grateful for the nausea, it gave him time to regroup. "Harvard's a big school and I was a lowly undergrad when he was there. Really didn't have much contact with the graduate students in the math department, especially once I started at B-school. That was the truth, just not the whole truth. And he was struck by a random thought – that it was a good thing that David Siegel's name had been on the lease for the house on Sidney Street.
"Ah, okay – I just thought it was an interesting coincidence."
"It is – and when I see Mr. Caffrey, I'll let him know."
"Don't forget to call Diana Berrigan to set up that meeting, unless you want me to do it?"
Peter thought about it – if he had to call Di, she'd want all the details about his split from Elizabeth and he didn’t think he was up to talking about it. "You know what – I'll let you arrange that. Sometime next week – but make it Wednesday or Thursday."
Blake made a note and asked, "What time?"
"Late morning – I seem to be at my best before lunch. The days have been going swiftly downhill after noon. In fact, I'm packing it in for the day. Can you call a car for me?"
"Good idea, Mr. Burke. You're not looking so good, and given how sick you've been, that's saying something."
He chuckled. "You know, since you feel free to insult me – maybe you could start calling me Peter?"
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
By mid-morning on Saturday, Elizabeth felt extremely accomplished. The house was clean, laundry done, business and personal emails answered, and she could relax for a little while. Her dog, Satchmo, was resting at her feet.
She was going to need all the energy she had. In a few hours, she'd be managing chaos and gold lame banana hammocks at a baby shower. She'd told Neal Caffrey about her adventures with Bitsy Cunningham's granddaughter's bridal shower, but she didn't mention that Bitsy insisted on hiring the same group of strippers for that granddaughter's baby shower. The eight and three-quarter-month pregnant mother-to-be and her friends were a raucous crowd and Elizabeth knew she'd be earning every penny of her fee tonight.
She'd just finished her tea and was considering having another cup when the doorbell rang. She hoped it was the mailman with the package she was expecting. But it wasn't, it was – of all people – Diana Berrigan and her son, Theo, at the door.
There was a weird feeling in the pit of her belly – this was the first time she'd seen Diana in a few years. Diana and Peter had kept in touch after he'd left the FBI. They'd gone to Diana's wedding, had her over when she needed to commiserate after her wife left six months later. El had even arranged a small baby shower for her. But she hadn't seen Diana since then, and it wasn't like her to visit out of the blue.
But she opened the door and greeted the other woman and her son with a warm smile. "Diana, what a surprise! And Theo, you've become such a big boy."
Diana kissed her on the cheek. "I hope you don't mind that we've stopped by. We were in the neighborhood and when I asked Theo what he wanted to do, he said 'go visiting'."
The little boy bounced and echoed his mother, "Go visitin'! Go visitin'!"
Diana explained, "It's his favorite thing to do."
Elizabeth laughed. "Maybe because he's so adorable that everyone wants to give him hugs and kisses and candy?"
"Candy? Candy? Can I have, momma?"
Diana rolled her eyes at her son. "No, sweetheart. You just had too much candy and cake at Joshie's birthday party."
Theo pouted and shuffled his feet. "But we're visitin'. Always get candy when we go visitin'."
At three, his behavior was still adorable, but Elizabeth could see a tantrum on the horizon. "Do you like dogs?"
The distraction worked, the pout disappeared and was replaced by wonder and anticipation. "Doggie? You have a doggie for me?"
El glanced up at Diana, who nodded her permission. "Yes, come – let's go say hello to Satchmo."
Her Lab was getting on in years, but Satchmo loved children and could always be counted on for good behavior around small humans. Theo made a bee-line for him, but Diana grabbed her son's shoulder and said, "Gently, Theo."
"Okay, momma – gentle." He plopped down on his butt next to the dog's bed and reached out to pat Satch's nose and was rewarded with a doggie kiss. Theo giggled and stuck his tongue out; Satchmo heaved himself up, took two steps and all but draped himself over the toddler.
Seeing the dog and boy had formed an instant bond, El turned her attention back to Diana. "It's good to see you. It's been a long time."
"It has."
They headed over to the kitchen area and El offered Diana coffee. They made small talk as the pot brewed. When she put the cup down in front of Diana, Diana said, "I saw Peter the other day. He told me you two had divorced."
El settled down across from her. "You didn't know?"
Diana shook her head. "No. We've both been wrapped up in our work – we kept making plans to get together for dinner, but every time, something came up and we've had to cancel. We haven't seen each other or really talked in about a year. But I saw Peter on Wednesday, and that's when he told me. I still have a hard time believing it."
El tried to keep her annoyance off her face. So this wasn't an out-of-the-blue visit, after all. "I guess he told you that I left him."
"We really didn't have much time to talk – it was a business meeting. And the strange thing was that he left in the middle of it."
"Business meeting? You're not with the FBI anymore?" Elizabeth was surprised; Peter had always said that Diana would probably end up as Director in twenty years.
"No, I left about two years ago. I realized that Theo had to come first in my life."
El nodded. She'd never had much maternal instinct, but she could understand how difficult it was to be a single parent with a dangerous job. "So what are you doing now?"
"Believe it or not, I'm a troubleshooter for a private equity firm. Spend most of my time keeping the bosses on the straight and narrow."
"Sounds a lot safer." El remembered too many nights when Peter came home looking like hell and stinking of gunpowder.
Diana glanced over at her son, who was still enthralled with Satchmo. "It is. He's the most important thing in my life."
"He's beautiful, and such a happy child."
"Thank you."
"So, you saw Peter and he spilled the dirt?" El figured there was no point beating around the bush.
"Like I said, we didn't have much time for private conversation. Actually, I wonder if he'd have said anything at all about your break up if I hadn't commented on how sick he looked and wondered how you let him out of the house."
"Sick?"
"Yeah – he looked like he’d lost a lot of weight. But it was more than that – he looked ill, like he'd been really sick for a long time and could barely stand upright."
"Last time I saw Peter – a week ago Friday – he hadn't looked too good. But he's a grown man and is responsible for himself." El pursed her lips, carefully considering her next words. "When I asked if he was all right, he made it very clear we weren't married anymore and I should stop interfering in his life."
Diana stared at her, as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing.
"That's not to say that I'm not concerned, but Peter told me that since we're divorced, I'm not part of his life anymore."
"Elizabeth, surely – "
"Diana, Peter couldn't have made it clearer that he wanted nothing to do with me. And then he walked out. So what do you want me to do?"
"I don't know." Diana scrubbed at her face. "Okay, I guess I know what he's going through. I've been there, done that, already tossed out the tee shirt. It just hurt to see him so diminished."
"I know what you're thinking – that he looks like crap because I left him. That he's taking it badly. That it's all my fault."
"No – I don't think that at all. Believe me, I didn't come here to give you a hard time about your break-up. I'm just worried about a friend."
"Okay." El then asked, "You think he's really sick?"
"Yeah. I don't know what's going on, but he looked …" Diana huffed out a breath, looked over to her son, then whispered, "Like he was dying."
Elizabeth shook her head. "Maybe he has a virus or something. He didn't look that terrible when I saw him about a week ago. He'd lost weight and he seemed a little run down, but not like he was dying."
Diana shrugged. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm overreacting."
El hoped so. It hurt to think of Peter suffering alone. "If he hadn't been so damn adamant that he didn't want me in his life, I'd go over to his place and take care of him."
"Where's he living now?"
"In a condo on the Upper West Side, on Columbus Avenue. One of those big new buildings." El reached for a pad and a pen. "Here's his address. Maybe you can go see him?"
"Thanks. I'll try."
"Will you let me know what's going on?"
Diana gave her a speaking look; it was clear that if Peter asked her not to say anything, she wouldn't. Elizabeth didn't blame her – her first loyalty would be to her friend and former boss. Not to the woman who divorced him. "If you can."
"I will, if I can."
Diana left shortly after making that promise, leaving Elizabeth alone in her worry. She kept telling herself that her ex-husband wasn't really as ill as Diana thought he was. Peter had an iron constitution, and she could never remember him being sick for more than a day or two.
It was ridiculous to be so concerned. Wasn't it?
END PART FOUR - GO TO PART FIVE
Author:
elrhiarhodanArtist:
treonb / Art PostFandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke, David Siegel, Diana Berrigan, Theodore "Mozzie" Winters, Theo Berrigan, Sara Ellis, Clinton Jones, Matthew Keller; Peter/Elizabeth (Past), Peter/Neal (Past), Neal/Keller (Past), Peter/Neal
Word Count: ~60,000
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Major Character Illness
Beta Credit:
pooh_collector, sinfulslasher Summary: In this alternate universe, the story opens as Peter and Elizabeth's marriage ends. Peter tries to move into a new life, but finds himself haunted by his past - a relationship with Neal Caffrey when they were both students at Harvard - and a future that might come to an end far too soon.
Author’s Note: Many, many thanks to my alpha readers
theatregirl7299 and miri_thompson, who provided an endless bounty of encouragement. Even more thanks to my wonderful and talented artist,
treonb, who created the beautiful and evocative promo video. Title from the Annie Lennox Song "Oh God (Prayer)", which TreonB used in the vid.
Diana Berrigan had had reservations about taking a job with Sundance Equity. It wasn't that she didn't want to leave the FBI, but going to work for a financial firm that operated under the regulatory radar didn't seem quite right. Yet, Peter Burke, her mentor and a man whose judgment she trusted without question, told her that this might be the perfect opportunity for her. She'd be in a strategic position in a small, highly successful firm, and would be able to keep the company – and its principals – on the straight and narrow.
Peter had a good point – there were only about a dozen full-time employees with the company and most of the work was done by the firm's two owners. When she'd interviewed with Theodore Winters, a strange little man who wouldn't be out of place in a support group for paranoid conspiracy theorists – she'd made it clear that she wasn't going to be too interested in covering up any illegal activities. Or cleaning up any legal messes.
Winters had stared at her. At least she thought he had; the overhead fluorescent lighting had cast a glare that made it impossible to see his eyes through his glasses. Diana had liked to think of herself as a pretty good interrogator, but this guy was doing an excellent job of making her sweat. Finally, he just said, "That's fine. We have lawyers to take care of that."
"So what do you need me for? The job's for a troubleshooter."
"My partner thinks we need someone to keep us on the straight and narrow."
Diana blinked – those were the exact words that Peter had used.
Winters continued, "We get enthusiastic and sometimes our enthusiasm gets in the way of the niceties of doing business. Your job would be to rein us in when that happens."
That was something Diana thought she could do very well.
Winters had asked her a few more questions and then came the one she'd been dreading. "Why are you looking to leave the FBI? Your resume has 'lifer' written all over it."
Diana had thought long and hard about this question and decided that she had to be honest. "My wife left me when I was six months pregnant. While the Bureau's been able to accommodate my needs as a single parent, I'm still a field agent. It hasn't been an easy decision to make, but I can't keep putting myself in harm's way."
"I thought that FBI agents were mostly pencil pushers and desk jockeys these days."
Diana bit back a rather nasty reply. She did want this job, after all. "You'd be surprised at how dangerous the job gets, especially in Antiterrorism."
"Ever kill anyone?"
"Not yet, but there's still time."
"As long as you don't start with me."
Diana had chuckled and Winters' lips twitched, but that was it. She'd had the feeling this man wasn't really the laugh out loud type.
He then surprised her. "You'll do. When can you start?"
"Don't I have to interview with your partner?"
"Nah. Neal trusts my judgment."
That was two years ago, and while there had been many days when she'd wanted to tear out her hair at the collective cluelessness of Theodore "Mozart" Winters and Neal Caffrey, by and large, she'd found the work fulfilling – far more than she ever expected from a civilian job.
Today was one of those days. She was going to bring her past and her present together in a very satisfying way – introducing Mozzie and Neal to Peter Burke. Or at least Peter's firm. She'd only spoken with his admin on Monday, who couldn't confirm that Peter would be available to attend the meeting. Peter had texted her that evening, saying that he was looking forward to seeing her.
She felt the same way – it had been over a year since she'd seen him and their lines of communication had been limited to brief texts. They'd both cancelled out on dinner plans more than once, and for some reason, never rescheduled.
The firm had rolled out the red carpet for them. Instead of a box of Starbucks' over-brewed coffee, there was an honest-to-goodness Caffè Florian-trained barista manning an authentic hand-made Italian espresso machine. It wouldn't have surprised her that the brightly colored macarons had been flown in from Maison Pierre Hermé Paris that morning. Nothing but the best for a client that could be worth at least a million dollars in annual billings.
Diana tried not to smile when Mozzie was difficult and demanded tea. The barista didn't blink and offered her boss a rather extensive menu. Moz probably asked for something vile and then proceeded to pour half a carafe of milk into it. Neal – coffee snob that he was – did appreciate what was on offer, and was chatting with the barista about Venice when Peter, another partner and a few associates came into the conference room.
She went to say hello and was immediately struck by how terrible Peter looked. He'd lost so much weight that his cuffs of his suit were hanging over his fingertips. His skin was practically gray and his eyes were bloodshot. Before she could stop herself, she said, "You look like crap."
"Good to see you, too, Di."
Appalled at how bad her old friend looked, she demanded, "How did Elizabeth let you out of the house when you're so sick?" Peter turned even paler, and the associate standing behind him flushed bright red and bit her lip. Peter took her arm and guided her over to the corner. She asked, "What's going on?"
"El and I split, we've been divorced for about six months. That's all."
Diana was shocked. "That's all? You two were perfect together."
Peter growled, "Sometimes perfection isn't what it's cracked up to be. That's why she left."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Peter shrugged. "It's not something one announces out of the blue, in a text message. I figured I'd tell you when we got a chance to catch up with each other. Just didn't expect it would be this long."
Diana could understand why Peter looked like hell. Her separation and divorce from Christie still hurt and had she not been six months pregnant when her wife walked out, she might have just stopped taking care of herself, too. But this wasn't the time or place to go into such deep, personal details. "Okay, we'll talk later; let me introduce you to my bosses."
Moz was closest and Diana hoped he'd be on his best behavior. But her hopes were in vain. He wasn't, calling Peter "Suit" in that too-familiar antagonistic tone.
Peter, though, gave as good as he got, and retorted, "Thought you'd be taller."
Moz accepted the insult and conceded the battle with a wry smile. "So did I."
Diana left the two men to talk – in more congenial tones – and went to get Neal, who was now telling one of Peter's associates about the time he'd played Pai-Gow poker with some underworld hoodlum in Chinatown and the club had been raided by the NYPD. The story still had the power to make Diana wince.
"Neal, come meet my former boss." As she turned back towards Peter and Mozzie, she felt Neal stiffen. When she looked at him, he seemed completely stunned. But the expression was so fleeting, Diana thought she might have imagined it. When she made the introduction, Neal was smiling.
What she didn't imagine was the surprise on Peter's face.
But she had no time to ask questions. One of Peter's partners came over and more introductions were made, and everyone moved to the conference table for the inevitable presentation about the firm's capabilities. Peter, however, wasn't the one who spoke, and after a few minutes, he excused himself and left the room.
Mozzie was engaged in a rather spirited debate about the value of off-shoring assets with the woman giving the presentation and didn't pay attention to Peter's departure. Neal, although he looked like he was involved in the discussion, seemed at odds with himself.
Diana tried to focus on the presentation, but she couldn't shake the feeling she'd missed something vital, something that had nothing to do with mergers and acquisitions and everything to do with her current and her former boss.
Peter barely made it back to his office and his private washroom, before the nausea overtook him. Even though he hadn't eaten, he retched until he almost passed out.
He'd been stupid not to take the Compazine, but he hadn't wanted to spend another day in a thick fog, struggling to stay conscious. The side-effects of his first chemo session had been as bad as he'd been warned, but he hated the thought of giving into the illness. Staying at home and wallowing seemed like he was getting one step closer to giving into the inevitable.
Peter leaned against the commode and the cold porcelain felt good against his skin, but he couldn’t sit on the bathroom floor forever. It took some effort to get to his feet, and when he went to clean up, he saw – to his embarrassment – that he'd gotten vomit on his shirt and tie. As he stripped, the sour stench of his body odor threatened to send him heaving back over the toilet bowl. But he managed to keep control and washed himself. Fresh attire helped, as did some mouthwash, and he felt almost human by the time he left the washroom.
One of his partners, Landon Shepard, was in his office, waiting for him. Her expression was one of concern, but her body language screamed irritation. "Are you okay?"
Peter sat down at his desk and gestured for Landon to take a seat. "I've been better."
"Then why the hell are you here? Shouldn't you be home, resting?"
"The referral came from Diana Berrigan. She called me – I wanted to be here."
"A valid point, except that disappearing in the middle of a presentation doesn't really send the right message, Peter."
He gave Landon a tight smile. "Nor does vomiting all over the conference table."
"True." Landon sighed. "If Sundance signs with us, they will be your client of record. Your connection with their firm ensures that."
"I know, I know." Peter scrubbed at his face. "I just wanted to be here, though."
"And now you can go home."
"I can make it through the day, Landon."
She shook her head, clearly disgusted with him. "What do you think is going to happen if you take sick leave? You're a senior partner in this firm; you bring in a huge chunk of revenue every year. Your name should be on the door if you'd let us put it there. No one is going to think less of you for taking time off because you're sick."
Peter didn't say anything. He knew she was right.
"You have cancer, damn it."
Cancer. He wanted to cover his ears. He wanted to deny that one horrible word.
"Peter, you need to take care of yourself."
"I know that, and I am."
Landon raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Taking care of yourself? You could have fooled me." She picked up some papers and handed them to him. "This is your application for short-term leave and disability. I've had it filled out for you, just sign it and go home."
Now Peter was annoyed. "That's really pushing it. I think I know what I need to do, and taking a few months off like some helpless baby isn't it."
Landon shook her head in disgust. "For a smart man, you really are quite an idiot. If I have to take this to the partners' committee, it's not going to go your way."
Peter knew that he could be forced to take the time. "Let's see how I feel next week. I probably pushed it today, but I should be better by Monday."
"What does your doctor say?"
"That the first week after chemo is the roughest."
"And yet you're here. Letting yourself get run down. Even more run down – even the most oblivious of us could see what the radiation treatments are doing to you."
"Landon, I appreciate that you care – but I need to make my own decisions regarding my health."
"You need to make the right decisions, Peter. Which you aren't."
"It's my life. My body."
"And now you sound like my daughter who wants to get a tattoo of Justin Bieber on her shoulder."
"That comparison is ridiculous."
"No, it's not. But in her defense, she's thirteen years old and her taste in musical idols can be forgiven. You, on the other hand, are fifty, and until recently, one of the smartest, savviest people I know." Landon stood and gave him a hard look. "Don't be such a stubborn jackass. Go home, rest, take care of yourself." She didn't wait for his answer and left.
Peter sat there, unwilling – unable - to accept Landon's advice. If he left the office, if he went home, he'd be alone. There would be nothing to distract him from the fact that Neal Caffrey was back in his life.
When they left the meeting and were on the street, waiting for their car, Moz asked Neal, "So, what do you think?"
Neal stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "They seem to know their stuff." That was pretty much all he could offer. His brain kept circling around the fact that Peter Burke was somehow back in his life.
"They certainly do – and Landon has some interesting ideas about off-shoring IP."
"Moz – you know how I feel about off-shoring. We're not in the rape and pillage business. We don't strip assets and leave companies barren. We're supposed to be responsible investors."
Moz glared at him. "Sometimes, I wish you were more ethically challenged."
"You know, I remember a time when you would have washed my mouth out with soap if I suggested a scheme that would end up hurting the little guys. You were the one who taught me right from wrong in this business."
Moz gave him another stink-eye. "It would also help if you had a less convenient memory."
Neal chuckled. "Come on, Moz. You know I'm right. We always try to do the right thing. We may be in the money business, but that doesn't make us soulless assholes."
Moz shrugged, not at all happy to be reminded of his own principles. "You're right, you're right."
Neal draped an arm around his friend's shoulder and pressed a kiss against his forehead. "We're the good guys, remember?"
"Feh – get off me." Moz gave him a gentle shove. "Just for that, I'm taking the car and heading out for the rest of the day. You two can hoof it back to the office."
Neal chuckled as Moz got into the car that just pulled up. He'd mentioned that Gina was back from California, and Neal was certain that his partner was taking off for some afternoon delight.
It was a little after four and he turned to Diana. "Feel like a drink? It's a little late to head back to the office. Or you can take off early and get home to Theo."
"No, a drink sounds good. Theo's nanny's on until seven on Wednesdays, and I wouldn't mind some adult company this evening."
Neal grinned, "I'm flattered! You finally consider me an adult."
Diana glared back at him. "For the moment yes, but if you keep telling that story about getting caught in a raid in a Chinatown gambling den, I'm going to have to ground you."
"But it's a good story."
"No, Neal – it isn't."
They bantered a bit and headed over to his favorite bistro – the same one where he'd met Elizabeth Mitchell just a week ago. They were escorted to his favorite table – the one that was perfect for people watching – and the same waiter, the one who'd flirted with him, came to take their orders.
Diana asked for a vodka and tonic and Neal ordered a glass of chardonnay. Once the waiter left, Neal made the request that had been on the tip of his tongue since they left the meeting. "Tell me about Peter Burke."
"Why? What do you want to know?"
"I thought it was kind of strange that he barely attended the presentation, and didn't say a word."
She nodded. "That was strange. When I worked for him, Peter was always the charismatic one – the one you wanted at the head of the table."
Neal had to add, "He didn't look like a well man." He knew that was an understatement.
"Yeah, I agree. We'd kind of lost touch over the last year or so, so I'm not sure what's going on."
"He didn't say anything to you before the meeting started?" Neal might have engaged the barista in conversation but almost all his attention was on Peter, and then on Diana's interaction with him. Peter had told her something. Neal had to wonder where her loyalties were, if she'd share the contents of that conversation with him.
Apparently, with him and not with her former boss. "He told me he got a divorce; that his wife left him." She shook her head. "Of all the couples – I still find it hard to believe. They had such a good marriage."
The waiter delivered their drinks and Neal was grateful for the interruption. "That's why he looks like death warmed over?" He had a feeling he knew just who Peter Burke had been married to. And Diana confirmed it.
"Maybe. Probably. Peter and Elizabeth were so close, he loved her so much. There was nothing he wouldn't do for her. And I always thought that she felt the same way about him. They were perfect together." Diana sipped her drink. "But I guess perfection is not what it's cracked up to be." Then she let out a short and bitter laugh. "And that's almost exactly what Peter told me."
"So, you think the divorce hit him hard?"
"I guess. I can't imagine what else it could be. Unless he's really sick." Diana gave him a curious look. "You seem awfully interested in his personal life."
"Well, if he's going to be providing financial advice to the firm, I need to know that he's dependable. That he's not going to push everything off onto a junior associate and disappear. Or worse."
"He wouldn't do that!" Diana's outrage was palpable. "Peter Burke is the most conscientious man I've ever met."
"But if he's sick – "
"We're hiring a firm, not just a single advisor."
"And the more people who know about our business, the more chances for leaks." Neal wasn't sure why he was intent on pushing Diana's buttons.
Except that she gave as good as she got. "I've got two words for you – 'Terrence Pratt'. He had sole control over our account at Whitcomb & White and look what happened."
Neal conceded the point, "True."
"Peter's a good man. When he left the FBI for Shepard and Franklin, he'd vetted them thoroughly. He'd said that he hadn't spent half a decade chasing terrorists through their bank accounts to go work for a company that committed financial terrorism."
Neal stared at Diana over the rim of his glass, not that he was ever able to intimidate her with a look. "I'm trusting you on this. Moz is, apparently, sold on the firm."
"You had to have formed an opinion."
"I thought Landon Shepard was smart, slick, and eager for our business. But the only reason we're considering Shepard and Franklin is because of your connection to Peter Burke, who didn't seem all that interested in courting Sundance Equity." Neal wondered where his common sense had disappeared to. If he kept pushing this button, Diana was going to see that he had more than a business interest in Peter Burke.
"I can understand your reservations. I'm worried about Peter, too – for personal reasons."
Neal nodded in understanding, but he kept a slightly skeptical expression on his face.
Which worked just as he'd hoped.
Diana tried to mollify him. "Look, let me call Peter and set up a private meeting between the two of you. Spend an hour with him – he'll answer all of your questions and I'm sure that you'll realize that he's worth your trust."
Bingo.
By Friday, Peter felt like he was moving through a wall of sludge. His treatment schedule was grueling; he'd had only a three-day respite from the radiation therapy after his chemo and he was back to getting zapped every morning. His nausea had abated slightly and he didn't feel the need to hurl every ten minutes. Just once an hour, now. But the exhaustion was getting worse and he felt himself getting weaker every day.
Landon was right, he didn't belong at the office. He needed to be in bed, sleeping, conserving what little strength he had. His oncologist had told him that by the third chemo session, he'd need to be hospitalized – which was something he hadn't shared with Landon. But that was at least a month away.
Except that most days, he wondered if he was going to make it to that point.
"Mr. Burke?" His assistant, Blake, was at the door, a file in hand. "I have the research you asked for."
It was almost too great an effort to reach out and take what Blake was handing him.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." Maybe someday, that would be true.
Blake, a very earnest young man, didn't leave. Instead, he closed the door and sat down. "I don't think you're all right. I think you're really sick."
Peter tried to glare at him, but it didn't have the effect he was hoping for. Once, he'd have been able to make young professionals like Blake pee in their pants with just a look.
His assistant remained uncowed. "I have ears as well as eyes and I've heard you losing your cookies every day – a couple of times a day."
"I'm sorry about that." It seemed like such a lame thing to say.
"Nothing to be sorry about – but everyone's worried about you. You've been looking like you've been really sick for a long time, but it's gotten really bad this week."
Peter rested his face in his hand. Of course, he'd naively assumed that no one would notice. Which was stupid, since he barely recognized himself in a mirror.
"It's bad, isn't it?" Blake asked, his voice soft.
Peter nodded. Blake was a good guy and he deserved the truth. "Cancer." The word tasted foul in his mouth.
"I – I had hoped it wasn't that."
"You figured it out?"
"My dad had lung cancer and well…" Blake's voice trailed off.
"He didn't make it?"
Blake shook his head. "They didn't find it until it was too late. My dad was a fighter and insisted on doing everything possible – radiation and chemo and a couple of experimental treatments, too. You have the same look as he did in the early days of his treatment. In the end, though, it didn't make a difference." Blake grimaced as he said that. "But I don't think that's what you wanted to hear."
Peter hated the pity in the other man's voice, but he was grateful that Blake didn't ask about prognosis or even what type of cancer he had. "The other partners know – I had to tell them, but no one else knows. I suspect, though, that word will get out soon enough."
"Not from me!"
"No, of course not. But billing paperwork from the doctors gets sent to benefits management, and people do talk, even when they're not supposed to. It's inevitable."
"What can I do?"
"At this point, nothing more than what you've been doing. Holding down the fort here, making sure that clients get serviced, managing my calendar. I don't really think I'm going to be in the office much in the foreseeable future."
"All right, and if there's anything you want me to handle – like personal stuff – I'll be happy to do that, too. Arranging for groceries, cleaning, medical appointments. If you want to work from home, I'll be happy to bring you any files you need. You can trust me."
Peter smiled, warmed by Blake's concern. "Thank you – right now, I'm okay but if I need anything, I'll let you know."
Blake nodded. "Okay – I better get back to my desk." He got up to leave, but stopped. "I almost forgot to tell you – Diana Berrigan called. She wants to set up an appointment for you to have some facetime with Neal Caffrey, from Sundance Equity. The same guy you had me do that research on." He tilted his head toward the file on Peter's desk. "What do you want me to tell her?"
And my chickens are coming home to roost. "I'll call her back."
Blake got stubborn. "You pay me to handle things. Let me handle them."
"In other cases, yes. But Diana's an old friend, and I owe her a call, anyway."
"Okay." Before Blake shut the door behind him, he added, "I'm always available – anytime. Just ask."
Peter wasn't sure what he did to earn such loyalty. He set that question aside and stared at the folder on his desk. Blake had labeled it "Confidential Client Information" and there were instructions on the top of the folder to destroy it within ten business days – the usual precautions for these types of reports.
The folder wasn't particularly thick, which was a relief. More data on a client usually meant bad news – like legal proceedings and criminal charges. Blake was not just an administrative assistant; he was a highly skilled researcher who'd spent a few years in an intelligence service. He could find out everything about anyone.
Over the years, he'd thought about looking up information about Neal. It wouldn't have taken much to set up a search; he had Neal's birthday and even knew his social security number. But as many times as he'd started, he'd always stopped himself. When he was married, it seemed the height of disloyalty – looking up an old lover. This last year, when he didn't have that excuse anymore, he couldn't bring himself to take that step. Why disturb ghosts from the past? What could it bring him but grief?
Now, though, he had every reason to know what Neal had been doing for the last twenty-five years and he opened the file before he could talk himself out of it.
Before he'd so brutally cut Neal from his life, back when they'd planned on taking a place together in New York, Neal had received offers from a number of Wall Street firms for consulting positions. That had made sense, since Neal's field of specialty was statistics and probability theory, and he'd been touted as the next John Nash. Neal had turned down all of the offers, insisting that he wanted to take a year or two off. He'd said that he felt like he was burning out. He'd planned on being a gentleman of leisure, spending his time traveling and absorbing everything on the New York cultural scene.
But according to the data that Blake assembled, Neal had never left Cambridge. A few days after he'd driven away from the house on Sidney Street, he'd applied for a post-Doctoral fellowship at MIT and spent the next two years working with Theodore Winters – another genius – the man who was his partner at Sundance Equity.
There was a scant page of notes about Winters and a comment from Blake – Need your authorization to do some really deep digging. As far as I can find, Theodore "Mozart" Winters doesn't exist before 1983.
Peter chuckled. Maybe he'd authorize that research, just for the hell of it.
The rest of the data was fairly bland – no skeletons in the closet. Neal and Winters had left MIT and founded a small hedge fund. They'd done well until the recession in the mid-nineties, but a year later, they'd regrouped and formed Sundance Equity, focusing on rescuing and rebuilding closely held tech firms.
The company's list of successes was impressive, but that wasn't the information that Peter really wanted. He flipped through the report until he found the section on Neal's personal life, which was surprisingly boring.
Blake's research indicated that Neal had never married, and he'd had just three serious relationships since he'd left Cambridge – one woman and two men – and the last one had ended two years ago. Since then, there were about a dozen credit card payments to businesses that fronted for gay escort services. Peter found that curious. Why would a man like Neal Caffrey – wealthy, gorgeous, socially adept – need to pay for companionship?
Most of the data was fairly innocuous and provided a snapshot of a somewhat dull and worthy life. In addition to his bought and paid-for companionship, there were regular purchases from art supply stores – so it seemed that Neal had kept up with that hobby. He had accounts with a number of custom tailors – which was hardly surprising. Reading material ranged from scholarly publications in the math and business fields to art treatises to self-published gay romances. Charitable donations were tightly focused on helping community-based LGBT organizations, but there was a note that Neal, through Sundance Equity, made substantial donations to many of the city's art museums.
The report also detailed Neal's gambling activities. Despite the long-ago assertion that he didn't want to remain a professional gambler, it seemed that Neal never gave it up. He played in a dozen tournaments a year and for the last five years, had never failed to end up at a final table, and won everything approximately sixty percent of the time.
The last page had information on property Neal owned. In addition to a dozen investment properties held by various trusts traced back to Neal, he had homes in Macao, Paris, and the Cayman Islands, which Blake had noted was likely a tax haven. But based on travel and passport records, Blake concluded that for the past five years, Neal spent most of his time in New York, at the apartment he owned in the San Remo, on Central Park West. Peter had to laugh at the irony, the San Remo was just a few blocks from his own place, and he could see the two spires from his bedroom window. Before he'd gotten sick, his morning jogging route took him past the grand old building, and it was more than likely that at some point, he'd have run into Neal. Literally.
He wished he had. Encountering Neal now, when he was so diminished, seemed the worst sort of cosmic joke. Except that maybe this was just what he deserved. Maybe this disease was payback for the lie he told twenty-five years ago. This wasn't the first time he'd had that thought, but now he couldn't seem to get the idea out of his head.
Peter closed the folder and set it aside. When he left the office, he'd give it to Blake for shredding; there was nothing else in there that he needed to see.
And then the nausea, which had been absent for most of the day, returned with a vengeance. Peter took shallow breaths and held himself very still until the urge to vomit subsided. He checked his watch and realized that it was almost time for another Compazine. If he were smart, he'd pack it in for the day instead of trying to work through the drug-induced fatigue.
Today, he was going to be smart. He sent an email to Landon, letting her know that he was heading home and he called Blake back into his office.
"Sir?"
Peter smiled. Someday he'd break his assistant's habit of formality. "Thank you for the research – it was most informative." He pushed the file across the desk and Blake took it.
"No questions?"
"Nope."
Blake cleared his throat. "I did notice something."
"Oh?"
"You and Mr. Caffrey were at Harvard during the same time – he entered the doctoral program in math when you were finishing your bachelor's degree there. Did you know him?"
Peter wiped his mouth and muttered, "Excuse me." He took another steadying breath – and was actually grateful for the nausea, it gave him time to regroup. "Harvard's a big school and I was a lowly undergrad when he was there. Really didn't have much contact with the graduate students in the math department, especially once I started at B-school. That was the truth, just not the whole truth. And he was struck by a random thought – that it was a good thing that David Siegel's name had been on the lease for the house on Sidney Street.
"Ah, okay – I just thought it was an interesting coincidence."
"It is – and when I see Mr. Caffrey, I'll let him know."
"Don't forget to call Diana Berrigan to set up that meeting, unless you want me to do it?"
Peter thought about it – if he had to call Di, she'd want all the details about his split from Elizabeth and he didn’t think he was up to talking about it. "You know what – I'll let you arrange that. Sometime next week – but make it Wednesday or Thursday."
Blake made a note and asked, "What time?"
"Late morning – I seem to be at my best before lunch. The days have been going swiftly downhill after noon. In fact, I'm packing it in for the day. Can you call a car for me?"
"Good idea, Mr. Burke. You're not looking so good, and given how sick you've been, that's saying something."
He chuckled. "You know, since you feel free to insult me – maybe you could start calling me Peter?"
By mid-morning on Saturday, Elizabeth felt extremely accomplished. The house was clean, laundry done, business and personal emails answered, and she could relax for a little while. Her dog, Satchmo, was resting at her feet.
She was going to need all the energy she had. In a few hours, she'd be managing chaos and gold lame banana hammocks at a baby shower. She'd told Neal Caffrey about her adventures with Bitsy Cunningham's granddaughter's bridal shower, but she didn't mention that Bitsy insisted on hiring the same group of strippers for that granddaughter's baby shower. The eight and three-quarter-month pregnant mother-to-be and her friends were a raucous crowd and Elizabeth knew she'd be earning every penny of her fee tonight.
She'd just finished her tea and was considering having another cup when the doorbell rang. She hoped it was the mailman with the package she was expecting. But it wasn't, it was – of all people – Diana Berrigan and her son, Theo, at the door.
There was a weird feeling in the pit of her belly – this was the first time she'd seen Diana in a few years. Diana and Peter had kept in touch after he'd left the FBI. They'd gone to Diana's wedding, had her over when she needed to commiserate after her wife left six months later. El had even arranged a small baby shower for her. But she hadn't seen Diana since then, and it wasn't like her to visit out of the blue.
But she opened the door and greeted the other woman and her son with a warm smile. "Diana, what a surprise! And Theo, you've become such a big boy."
Diana kissed her on the cheek. "I hope you don't mind that we've stopped by. We were in the neighborhood and when I asked Theo what he wanted to do, he said 'go visiting'."
The little boy bounced and echoed his mother, "Go visitin'! Go visitin'!"
Diana explained, "It's his favorite thing to do."
Elizabeth laughed. "Maybe because he's so adorable that everyone wants to give him hugs and kisses and candy?"
"Candy? Candy? Can I have, momma?"
Diana rolled her eyes at her son. "No, sweetheart. You just had too much candy and cake at Joshie's birthday party."
Theo pouted and shuffled his feet. "But we're visitin'. Always get candy when we go visitin'."
At three, his behavior was still adorable, but Elizabeth could see a tantrum on the horizon. "Do you like dogs?"
The distraction worked, the pout disappeared and was replaced by wonder and anticipation. "Doggie? You have a doggie for me?"
El glanced up at Diana, who nodded her permission. "Yes, come – let's go say hello to Satchmo."
Her Lab was getting on in years, but Satchmo loved children and could always be counted on for good behavior around small humans. Theo made a bee-line for him, but Diana grabbed her son's shoulder and said, "Gently, Theo."
"Okay, momma – gentle." He plopped down on his butt next to the dog's bed and reached out to pat Satch's nose and was rewarded with a doggie kiss. Theo giggled and stuck his tongue out; Satchmo heaved himself up, took two steps and all but draped himself over the toddler.
Seeing the dog and boy had formed an instant bond, El turned her attention back to Diana. "It's good to see you. It's been a long time."
"It has."
They headed over to the kitchen area and El offered Diana coffee. They made small talk as the pot brewed. When she put the cup down in front of Diana, Diana said, "I saw Peter the other day. He told me you two had divorced."
El settled down across from her. "You didn't know?"
Diana shook her head. "No. We've both been wrapped up in our work – we kept making plans to get together for dinner, but every time, something came up and we've had to cancel. We haven't seen each other or really talked in about a year. But I saw Peter on Wednesday, and that's when he told me. I still have a hard time believing it."
El tried to keep her annoyance off her face. So this wasn't an out-of-the-blue visit, after all. "I guess he told you that I left him."
"We really didn't have much time to talk – it was a business meeting. And the strange thing was that he left in the middle of it."
"Business meeting? You're not with the FBI anymore?" Elizabeth was surprised; Peter had always said that Diana would probably end up as Director in twenty years.
"No, I left about two years ago. I realized that Theo had to come first in my life."
El nodded. She'd never had much maternal instinct, but she could understand how difficult it was to be a single parent with a dangerous job. "So what are you doing now?"
"Believe it or not, I'm a troubleshooter for a private equity firm. Spend most of my time keeping the bosses on the straight and narrow."
"Sounds a lot safer." El remembered too many nights when Peter came home looking like hell and stinking of gunpowder.
Diana glanced over at her son, who was still enthralled with Satchmo. "It is. He's the most important thing in my life."
"He's beautiful, and such a happy child."
"Thank you."
"So, you saw Peter and he spilled the dirt?" El figured there was no point beating around the bush.
"Like I said, we didn't have much time for private conversation. Actually, I wonder if he'd have said anything at all about your break up if I hadn't commented on how sick he looked and wondered how you let him out of the house."
"Sick?"
"Yeah – he looked like he’d lost a lot of weight. But it was more than that – he looked ill, like he'd been really sick for a long time and could barely stand upright."
"Last time I saw Peter – a week ago Friday – he hadn't looked too good. But he's a grown man and is responsible for himself." El pursed her lips, carefully considering her next words. "When I asked if he was all right, he made it very clear we weren't married anymore and I should stop interfering in his life."
Diana stared at her, as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing.
"That's not to say that I'm not concerned, but Peter told me that since we're divorced, I'm not part of his life anymore."
"Elizabeth, surely – "
"Diana, Peter couldn't have made it clearer that he wanted nothing to do with me. And then he walked out. So what do you want me to do?"
"I don't know." Diana scrubbed at her face. "Okay, I guess I know what he's going through. I've been there, done that, already tossed out the tee shirt. It just hurt to see him so diminished."
"I know what you're thinking – that he looks like crap because I left him. That he's taking it badly. That it's all my fault."
"No – I don't think that at all. Believe me, I didn't come here to give you a hard time about your break-up. I'm just worried about a friend."
"Okay." El then asked, "You think he's really sick?"
"Yeah. I don't know what's going on, but he looked …" Diana huffed out a breath, looked over to her son, then whispered, "Like he was dying."
Elizabeth shook her head. "Maybe he has a virus or something. He didn't look that terrible when I saw him about a week ago. He'd lost weight and he seemed a little run down, but not like he was dying."
Diana shrugged. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm overreacting."
El hoped so. It hurt to think of Peter suffering alone. "If he hadn't been so damn adamant that he didn't want me in his life, I'd go over to his place and take care of him."
"Where's he living now?"
"In a condo on the Upper West Side, on Columbus Avenue. One of those big new buildings." El reached for a pad and a pen. "Here's his address. Maybe you can go see him?"
"Thanks. I'll try."
"Will you let me know what's going on?"
Diana gave her a speaking look; it was clear that if Peter asked her not to say anything, she wouldn't. Elizabeth didn't blame her – her first loyalty would be to her friend and former boss. Not to the woman who divorced him. "If you can."
"I will, if I can."
Diana left shortly after making that promise, leaving Elizabeth alone in her worry. She kept telling herself that her ex-husband wasn't really as ill as Diana thought he was. Peter had an iron constitution, and she could never remember him being sick for more than a day or two.
It was ridiculous to be so concerned. Wasn't it?
Tags:
- character: clinton jones,
- character: david siegel,
- character: diana berrigan,
- character: elizabeth burke,
- character: landon shepherd,
- character: matthew keller,
- character: mozzie,
- character: neal caffrey,
- character: peter burke,
- character: sara ellis,
- character: theo berrigan,
- genre: alternative universe,
- genre: angst,
- genre: comfort porn,
- genre: domesticity,
- genre: emotional trauma,
- kink: cuddling,
- kink: kissing,
- pairing: neal/keller,
- pairing: peter/elizabeth,
- pairing: peter/neal,
- type: fan fiction,
- type: longfic,
- wc verse: it must be now,
- white collar,
- written for: wcbb,
- year: 2015
