White Collar Fic - Words Will Have to Do (Wonder(ful) Years)

[elrhiarhodan]

Title: Words Will Have to Do
Author: elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Joe Burke (OC), Cathy Burke (OC), Amy Grainger (OC), Jack Franklin; Peter/Neal, Jack/Amy
Word Count: ~6100
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Beta Credit: sinfulslasher (who knows just how awesome she is).
Summary: Set in The Wonder(ful) Years A/U in the very late 1990s, Peter and Neal are facing a work-imposed separation. Neither man is happy about it. But there's such things as air mail and email and even international cell phone service, so just because they're apart doesn't mean that they can't stay in touch.

Author’s Note: Written for the sixth day/night of Fic-Can-Ukah, for tjs_whatnot who picked "I am writing you from a far-off country" – Neal/anyone, or gen.

Many thanks to theatregirl7299 who gave me the suggestion for this story.

Also, this isn't late. The sixth night of Chanukah doesn't end until sundown, and I've got plenty of time.

__________________



Neal watched, stony-faced, as Peter packed. "It's not fair."

"I know. I've agreed with you about this for a month. It's not fair, but it's not like I have a choice."

"You could have turned it down." Neal knew he was whining, but couldn't seem to help himself.

Peter looked up from the pile of underwear he was stuffing into the corners of his suitcase. "Really? Just tell the new ASAC, 'No thanks, but I don't want to be the White Collar division's representative on an important international money laundering and bank fraud operation?' How well do you think that would go over?"

Neal sighed and relented. "Not well. I know that. And I know I'm being a shit about this."

Peter dropped a pile of socks on the bed. "You are, but you do have the right to be. At least we're talking this time. It's not like what I did to you when you got tapped for the Japan assignment."

Neal's lips twisted into a half-smile. "No, it's not. And you're not going into a deep cover operation for months on end. It's not like I can't come and see you when I have the time."

"You're just jealous."

"That's true. It's London. I love London." Neal had once spent several weeks in London when he was in private practice. The firm had put him up at a five-star hotel and although he'd spent most of his time working, he still had had a chance to explore the city.

"Of course you love London. You love the tailors and the museums and the art galleries. The history."

Neal had to laugh. Peter knew him all too well. "You won't appreciate London and all the wonders it has to offer."

"Believe me, I'm not looking forward to six weeks of warm beer and overcooked meat. And the Yankees are in a tight pennant race and I have tickets behind home plate for the last three home games of the season and I won't be able to go. Someone was very generous on my birthday." Peter shot him A Look.

"I'm going to miss you." That was the bald, unvarnished truth. "I can't stand the idea of you being so far away."

Peter nodded. "I don't like it either. Other than a few nights here and there, we haven't been apart since I got out of the hospital."

Neal sat down next to Peter's suitcase and refolded the shirts that had been so haphazardly dumped in it. "I'm all right. You're all right. But …" He dropped his hands in his lap, feeling like utter crap.

Peter sat and leaned into him. "I feel the same way. You'd think, after so many years, that we'd actually look forward to having a little breathing room. A little alone time."

"It's 1999 – we've been together sixteen years. Most marriages don't last that long." The word "marriage" hurt to say – they'd never have that right.

Peter understood, though. "Maybe we've kept the spark alive because we're living in sin."

"Ha! I don't think it works that way." But he was amused by the idea. "Or maybe you have something there. We've been to how many commitment ceremonies? A dozen? And how many of those relationships lasted?"

Peter chuckled. "I think we went to three 'unbinding' ceremonies last year, and I know of a few others that didn't make it to the first anniversary."

"Weren't Ben and Chris together for a decade before their commitment ceremony? And didn't they break up before they'd finished sending out the thank-you cards?"

"Yeah, but to be honest, I think that they went through with the whole dog-and-pony show to try and rescue what was already failing."

Neal sighed again, refocusing on their impending separation. "I want you to go and show those bozos what the FBI is made of. I'm so proud that you got picked for this. But …"

"Yeah, but… Six weeks."

Neal mused, "I've gone without for longer."

Peter gave him the side-eye. "So have I. But not recently."

"Goat." That was a familiar and beloved epithet. "We can always call in sick tomorrow and fuck our brains out until you need to leave for the airport." Peter was taking the red-eye and didn't have to be at JFK until eight.

"I have back-to-back meetings with the brass. And don't you have trial prep with the U.S. Attorney on the Wilkerson case?"

"Yeah." Neal pouted. "Then we need to make the most of tonight. And tomorrow morning. I want to be bowlegged tomorrow. You think you're up to that?" He gave Peter a salacious grin.

In response, Peter shoved the suitcase onto the floor and pushed Neal on his back. "You'll need a wheelchair when I'm through with you."

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

Week One

September 30, 1999

Dear Neal –

Arrived in Heathrow and made it to London okay. The flight wasn't that bad – well, except for the screaming baby next to me and the kid in the seat behind. Felt sorry for the baby, but the kid? Jeez, makes me glad we're not reproducing. After two hours listening to him whine and putting up with his seat-kicking, I actually flashed my badge and told him I'd have him arrested if he didn't stop.

Of course, the brat's mother got all pissy, too. She got pretty vocal about me threatening her perfect child and called a flight attendant. Who calmly escorted me to a seat in First Class. For a moment, I wanted to check my face in a mirror because shit stuff like this only happens to YOU.

Anyway, all your instructions about getting from Heathrow to London by train were not needed. Scotland Yard sent someone to pick me up. A uniform – and he didn't look old enough to be out of grade school. Jackass smirked at me when I got into the car on the wrong side and then made me cling to the suicide strap on the drive in.

If you think traffic at the Midtown Tunnel is bad, try getting into London during morning rush. And of course the twit who was driving wouldn't turn on the bubble.

I've got to hit the ground running – the first task force meeting is in about an hour. I spent the second half of the flight reviewing my notes, so I think I'll do fine.

And for the record, I don't know why I'm writing you letters. I have the new ThinkPad they issued me, and it's got AOL and Lotus Notes on it, so as soon as I can get back to my hotel room and get the local dial-up number, I can just send you a message and you'll get it right away. Isn't technology amazing?

Except that you asked me to write "real" letters. Ones that will take days to receive. I guess it's romantic. A pain, but romantic.

Love you,

Peter

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

"Any plans for the weekend?" Amy Grainger leaned against Neal's desk and studied her manicure.

Neal smiled up at his former tormenter and current good friend. He knew exactly what she was doing, so he casually offered, "I plan to spend my free time cataloging my suits, reorganizing my ties, and getting a few pairs of shoes resoled."

"All very exciting and important tasks. But unless you're Imelda Marcos, I can't imagine that will take you an entire weekend."

"It might – you haven't seen the size of my closet."

"Oh, don't go there, Caffrey."

They both chuckled. Amy had been one of the first to suss out his relationship with Peter and it delighted her to no end. Neal understood that for too many years, she'd felt diminished by his lack of interest in her feminine attributes. When she had accidentally discovered that he and Peter were "involved", it seemed to make things a hell of a lot better for her.

"So, why the interest in my social life?"

"With Burke in London, I thought you'd be free."

"You mean lonesome."

She nodded. "Yeah. At loose ends. You and Peter - " Amy shook her head. "Still can't really believe it."

"What, that we're gay?" Neal kept his voice down. Even though it was late Friday afternoon and most of the place had cleared out, and more importantly, everyone knew about him and Peter, he still felt uncomfortable talking about it.

"No, silly, that I didn't know a damn thing about it. That I worked with you for half a decade and was completely clueless." She shrugged. "Anyway, I wanted to know if you'd like to have dinner or something with me. Maybe catch a movie. I promise to keep my hands off your undeniably hot ass."

Neal looked around, making sure that no one was listening. "Where's Jack?"

"Jack Franklin doesn't dictate my social schedule."

"But you're still seeing him, right?"

"Yeah." Amy let out a huffy sigh. "And he did ask me if I wanted to have dinner tomorrow night, but I felt a little sorry for you so I told him 'maybe'. Most of our Saturday plans start out as 'maybes', so don't get a swelled head."

Neal chuckled. "All right, then how about if the two of you come over? I wouldn't mind cooking."

"I haven't told him that you know about us."

"Then what about you have dinner with Jack tomorrow night and we meet for brunch at the Modern Diner on Sunday? You can bring him if you want."

As Amy considered the offer, Neal added, "You know, I really don't mind being alone on Saturday evening. I'll probably go up in the afternoon and see Peter's folks and they'll feed me until I'm about to burst."

"I guess that will work. And I probably should tell Jack that you know about the two of us. You're still the only one who does, right?" She wasn't asking about the office in general, but if he'd told Peter.

"I do know how to keep a secret."

"I'll call you Sunday morning and let you know, okay?"

"Sounds good. And thank you."

"For what, Caffrey?"

"For looking out for me. For being a friend."

Amy gave him a sharp look, then softened. "You might be sex on a stick, but you're a good guy. There aren't too many of those around."

Neal shook his head and watched her pack up and head out. It was almost five and while the FBI office never really closed, almost everyone had left for the weekend. He wasn't; however, eager to head out and go home to an empty apartment.

Date: October 1, 1999
To: pburke@ny.fbi.gov
From: ncaffrey@aol.com
Subject: NO SUBJECT

Dear Peter –

Do I have to say "I miss you"? It's too damn lonely at night. It's been two days since you left but it feels like two years. It's worse than when I went to Japan because you're everywhere I go when I'm home. I guess this has to be how you felt when I was gone.

It's way too quiet at the office. The Wilkerson matter settled and I don't have to testify. The new ASAC is still getting the feel of the place and hasn't been doling out too many new assignments. I can't wait for Agent Hughes to come back.

If I were busier, I might not be so lonely.

It's like I'm only half alive when you're gone. We joke and laugh and tease each other, but you know it's always been a hell of a lot more than what goes on in the bedroom.

And before you say anything, I know I'm being remarkably indiscreet – sending you a love letter to your FBI email address, but you know what, I don't care. It's not like people don't know. And so much for planning ahead and loading AOL onto the laptop. It helps to have a phone line in your "hotel" room to make a connection.

But wait, you're really not staying in a hotel, are you? You're in some horrible boarding house by the docks, where you have to share a bathroom with six other people.

At least they got you out of the place with the rabid dog. That's a bright spot, I guess.

I really do wish you'd change your mind and let me get you a room at a better hotel. Doesn't have to be five-star, you can rough it at a Marriott or a Hilton. Just because you'll only get $75 a day for lodging and expenses doesn't mean you have to put up with a roach-infested flophouse.

I saw Agent Hughes today. I actually have to call him Reese now, since he's retired, he told me to. I gave him the tickets for two of the three games. There's no way I'm going to see the Yankees without you. I'll give the other pair – the ones for the Sunday afternoon game – to your mom and dad. I know Aunt Cathy's a Mets fan and they actually might make the playoffs this year, too. I wonder if the world would end with a true Subway Series.

Amy's being really sweet – she's worried that I'm lonely. And I am. But that's something that will be fixed soon enough. Five more weeks. Shorter if I can get my vacation approved.

Love you,

Neal

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

Week Two

October 9, 1999

Dear Neal:

I don't know what the hell I'm doing here. I talk and no one listens. Or they laugh and call me a dumb Yank and make snide remarks about not needing a gun to solve a problem. Their information is so damn disorganized, no one knows who all the players are and if they think they're making progress, they're delusional.

I suggested setting up a database like the one you set up for the Sullivan S&L failure to map all of the players and their relationship, but I was laughed out of the room. Even though I've got nine years' experience, I'm basically treated like an ignorant probie.

But I do my job, file my reports and that's what matters, right?

I've been exploring London in my free time, and I can understand your affection for the place. It's got so much history – everywhere you turn there's something ancient. I told you I did a double-decker bus tour, right? Made all the usual touristy stops - Baker Street, Madame Tussaud's, The Tower of London - even paid to see the Crown Jewels. This weekend I walked all over the place – took the Tube to Piccadilly Circus and just started walking. Ended up down by Big Ben and Parliament, which is way too close to New Scotland Yard for my peace of mind.

I have your list of museums in hand - the Victoria and Albert seems like something I'd really enjoy, so does the British Museum. Going to try to get to The Globe, too.

Took lots of pictures, but I'll wait until I get home to have them developed. Everything is so expensive here – things cost twice as much.

A glass of OJ was almost three dollars American!

The beer isn't as bad as I'd feared, but the food is not really good. Cheap eating means either something fried (don't get me started on the mushy peas thing), or the British version of Indian food - Chicken Tikka Masala. If I want Italian, it's what they call "Spag Bol" – spaghetti in meat sauce. I'd kill for a decent slice of pizza or even a good bagel. I guess when you're here with a nearly unlimited expense account, you can eat in better restaurants - if they do exist.

And that's not an invitation to move me to better lodgings. I'm fine just where I am. Three tenants have left and there's plenty of hot water now.

I hope you get that vacation approved. I miss you more than I can say. It's bad - I'm bored, I'm lonely, I feel like a pariah. But I'm Peter Burke and I'll tough it out. There's talk of replacing some of the so-called experts on the case. Bringing in some hot-shots from private industry. Who knows, maybe it'll be someone who actually knows what they're doing and couldn't care less about figuring out who has the biggest dick in the room.

Fucking Brits.

Anyway, I'm going to go for a run, drop this off in the mail, and then get to work. Oh, joy.

Sorry for being such a downer.

Love you, miss you, need you,

Peter

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

"Hey there, Aunt Cathy." Neal let himself into Peter's parents' condo in Rye.

They'd moved here about two years ago and he still hadn't adjusted to the fact. He knew why they had relocated; Uncle Joe had retired and the property taxes in Brookville Falls were going through the roof. The house they'd bought in the early 1960s had become both far too valuable and much too expensive to keep. Neal had privately offered to pay the taxes, put a new roof on the house, do everything he could so that his surrogate family could stay where they were.

But Uncle Joe had very firmly refused. It wasn't pride or stubbornness, it was the simple fact that they didn't want to live there anymore. It was a house for a young family, not a pair of old fogies.

There was no argument that Neal could made in the face of that simple fact. For about five seconds, he entertained the idea of buying the place himself. But for what? To create a shrine to a happy childhood? He didn't need that. He had Peter.

So he and Peter helped the elder Burkes pack up a lifetime of memories and move into a charming and cozy condo in Rye, a couple of blocks from the beach. As far as he could tell, Aunt Cathy and Uncle Joe never regretted the move.

"Hi there, Neal." Cathy came over and gave him a tight hug. "You look tired, sweetheart."

"I am."

"Not sleeping well?"

Neal nodded. "I miss Peter."

"I know. It's hard being apart from the man you love." Cathy poured cups of coffee for both of them and they sat down at the small kitchen table. "Peter was just as glum when you had to go undercover."

Neal stared at the dark liquid. He hated to think about that time. "At least we're able to keep in touch. I've gotten a couple of letters from him, and we're able to email each other."

Cathy shook her head. "Email - it seems like magic. Joe had tried using the computer you and Peter gave us for Christmas, but he gave up in frustration."

"Maybe we could spend some time together and Uncle Joe could show me where he's having trouble."

"Oh, I think we're too old for all this technology."

Neal rested a hand over Cathy's. "You're not old."

She chuckled. "We still can't figure out how to program the damn VCR, and you want us to send you messages through the computer?"

"Trust me, it's easier."

Uncle Joe came in, ruddy from the chilly October wind. "Didn't know you were coming over, Neal. Not that we're not glad to see you. Can't sleep, missing Peter?"

Neal smiled as Uncle Joe rattled off the questions. "Of course."

They chatted about a variety of inconsequentialities - the baseball game that Neal had given them the tickets for, the Yankees' chances of sweeping the Red Sox in the Division Series. It all felt normal, except that his partner and best friend was on the other side of the ocean.

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

Date: October 17, 1999
To: pburke@ny.fbi.gov
From: cathyjoeburke@aol.com
Subject: Dear Peter

Dearest Peter -

Neal's finally been able to explain this email thing to your dad and me. I still think it's magic - but then most technology is, at first.

Your dad and I miss you, but Neal misses you a lot more. He's not sleeping and I don't think he's eating too well. You've been gone two weeks and it looks like he's lost ten pounds. Of course, he's a lean one to begin with. But his butt's still cute and very squeezable. (Yes, I am your mother and I can say such things.) He's been here both weekends that you've been gone - he's lonely and at loose ends. Which is very sweet and also very sad. Your lives are so intertwined, it's hard to see where you end and Neal begins.

And now I'm getting maudlin - just call me Maudlin Mom. Hold on - your father wants to say hello, too.

Son - I've just read what your mother has written and if I was a lesser man, I'd be concerned about her fascination with Neal's ass. But objectively speaking, it's pretty fine. Okay - that's probably something I shouldn't have said. Where's the damn delete key.

Anyways, I hope you're having a good time and doing good work there.

Want to hear something funny? We were watching an old episode of Inspector Morse on PBS last week, and one of the bit characters was an FBI Agent called "Burke". Don't think they mentioned a first name, but the man was an idiot! Nothing like my genius son.

Okay, your mother's hovering.

Love you, Dad

Peter - I was NOT hovering. Your father types in the Biblical fashion - "seek and ye shall find" and it was driving me crazy.

I won't take up more of your time, but know we love you and we miss you. Come home soon.

Your mother.

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

Week Three

October 23, '99

Dear Neal -

Believe it or not, things are getting better here. The DI (that's Detective Inspector) who'd been running the case was "reassigned" and the replacement is someone who actually understands technology and how to use it.

We've talked about setting up the database I'd recommended three weeks ago and she - yes, it's a woman! - has given me the go-ahead. Of course, I mentioned we'd used it to crack open a decade old cold case, and your name came up. She wondered why you weren't sent over - not instead of me, but in addition. She's going to raise it with the brass - so you might find yourself on a plane soon.

And thank you very much for showing my folks how to use AOL. I'm getting messages from them every night. They've become obsessed. I'm not really complaining, but it's just weird that I hear from them more now than I did when I was home.

I wish I could call and talk to you. The few minutes we get during the day when I'm at the office are great, but with everyone around, it's too difficult to really talk.

I wasn't going to say anything, but there's no reason not to. The guys I'm working with are a bunch of knuckle-dragging homophobes. The incessant queer jokes pretty sickening. I know you'd probably have some snappy comeback, but I just keep my head down and say nothing. Which makes me feel like crap. It was hard enough when they were treating me like dirt because I'm American; I can just imagine how it would be if I told them I was gay. Or even if I just told them to shut their disgusting mouths.

Grrrrrrrr.

Dreamed about you last night. It was a really good dream, too. You were a slave and I was a Roman general. I'm getting wood just thinking about it.

I could go take care of that or I could continue to write this letter.

I think I'm going to go beat off, fantasizing about you sucking my dick while your hands are tied up.

Love you,

Peter.

PS - Want to hear something very funny? Near Covent Garden there's a "Neal Street" and a "Neal's Yard." If you ever get here, we'll have tea in one of the fancy shops there.

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


Kirk Douglas died a bloody death and the credits started to roll as the movie came to an end. Neal pressed the rewind button and let the VCR do its job. He'd return it to Blockbuster tomorrow. Pity the rental store didn't carry any porn.

He was bored and frustrated. Jerking off relieved the blue balls, but he missed Peter. He missed his horny goat, the heat and mass and weight of the man. He missed getting fucked.

It hadn't been like this when he'd gone to Japan. Maybe because they'd parted in anger and he couldn't allow himself to feel anything but righteous pride, and then as the weeks passed, bitter regret.

Neal checked the time - it was one AM here, so it was six in London. Not too early, not too late. He picked up the phone and dialed an international number. After three weeks of frustratingly bland calls to Peter when he was at his desk at Scotland Yard, Neal had a cell phone delivered to Peter with a UK SIM card. He'd wanted to do this before Peter had left for England, but Peter - being Peter - refused. It was just too expensive.

Not wanting to cause an argument that might linger and sour their already difficult parting, Neal gave in. But he kept the phone he'd purchased for Peter and shipped it last week.

Peter, for his part, had been grateful, but also annoyed and refused to talk more than ten minutes at a time.

The phone rang twice before Peter answered. "Neal? Why are you still up?"

"Hello, Peter - miss you, too. And it's not that late."

"No, I guess not. It's good to hear your voice." Peter sighed and Neal could hear the unhappiness.

"What's the matter?"

"They are talking about extending my stay for another two or three weeks. Apparently I'm now the key player in moving this thing forward. The big bosses are really taken by my energy and creativity."

Neal's stomach dropped. "That's good, but that sucks, too."

"I actually think I prefer being treated like a probie. Then I could stay until the assignment was finished and get the hell home."

"And it's not like you can tell them you're homesick."

"Yeah. I keep fantasizing about getting really sick and having to come home."

"But that's not who you are. You were picked for this assignment because you're the best."

"Thank you for saying that. But it really doesn't help. I want to come home. And yes, I'm whining. I'm allowed to whine."

"You are." Neal sighed. He wasn't sure if he could manage if they extended Peter's assignment. Before this news, he had a little less than two weeks to go - and now it was possible he'd be gone for another month or more. The new boss had denied his request to take two weeks off, and for good reason - without Peter, he was considered the division's top agent. It wasn't a matter of seniority, but skill. The curse of excellence.

He had to change the subject. "Watched Spartacus tonight."

"Really? Why?"

"Your letter last week - your dream about being a Roman general."

"And you were my slave boy."

"Yeah - it was inspiring. But the movie wasn't too good - and it was kind of funny to see all of the slaves running into battle wearing wrist watches."

"Hah! Didn't we watch that in Latin class one year? I think I remember it."

"We did - but it was a heavily edited version. They cut out a scene that might have been right out of your fantasy." Neal described the really delicious scene between Evil Senator Laurence Olivier trying to seduce Slave Boy Tony Curtis.

"We are definitely going to need to reenact that."

"That was my thought. We could … " Before Neal could describe how they'd role-play, he heard an alarm go off in the background.

"Damn - it's getting late. I need to be at the office early today. There's a presentation for the higher ups and I promised to run through it with the team. Sorry."

"I'll call you tomorrow, okay? And if you can, send me a quick message and let me know how everything went. I'd suggest fucking things up today so you can get sent home, but …"

"Yeah, but that's not the way I do things."

"Love you, Peter Burke."

"Love you, Neal Caffrey. And get some sleep."

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

Week Four

Date: November 3, 1999
To: ncaffrey@ny.fbi.gov
From: pburke@ny.fbi.gov
Subject: NO SUBJECT


Neal -

Finally got word about extending the assignment and it's a BIG FAT NO!!!!!!!! Apparently Agent Carlton put his foot down and told them that he needs me back in New York. There's such a thing as telephones and conference calls and emails. No need to keep me here in London.

So it looks like I'm out of here two weeks from Friday!!!!!!!

I can't tell you how happy that makes me.

Peter

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

Date: November 5, 1999
To: lcarlton@ny.fbi.gov
From: ncaffrey@ny.fbi.gov
Subject: Vacation Request

Agent Carlton:

Please approve my vacation request for November 12th, 13th and 14th. My current leave balance is 195 hours.

Respectfully,

Neal Caffrey

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


"Caffrey - my office."

Neal looked up from the deposition transcript he was reviewing. Lloyd Carlton, the ASAC who was filling in for Reese Hughes, who'd taken medical leave, was giving him the double finger point.

Amy gave him a worried look. So did Jack. Neal just shook his head slightly, trying to tell them that there was nothing to be worried about.

He went up to Agent Carlton's office.

"Shut the door, Caffrey."

He did, and since he wasn't invited to sit down, he remained at the equivalent of parade rest. "Is there a problem, sir?"

The man finally gestured for him to take a seat. "When I spoke with Reese Hughes before taking this assignment, he was very clear that you and Peter Burke were the best agents in this office and I needed to do everything possible to keep you happy. When I asked him why the two of you deserved special treatment, Hughes just said that excellence should be rewarded. I've asked around - quietly, mind you - and I've heard some interesting rumors."

Neal was getting a bad feeling about this conversation. "Oh?"

"I worked with Deb Itani in Organized Crime for a couple of years. Also know Mitch Ross. He was your handler for the Kuroda investigation. Both of them pretty much confirm that you're the gold standard. Itani also mentioned that you're some kind of trust fund baby and don't need the job."

"I'm surprised that Agent Itani thought that was worth mentioning. My personal assets has nothing to do with the quality of my work."

"No, it doesn't. But I can't help but think of Hughes' advise. If I piss you off, will you tell me to take the job and shove it?"

"What?" Neal was genuinely shocked. "I - I'd never. I've wanted to be an FBI agent since I was in high school. This is my dream - my net worth is irrelevant."

"Most FBI agents don't have a 'net worth'."

"I don't understand this conversation. If you are having a problem with my work or my attitude, I'd like to know - so I can fix it."

Carlton sighed. "No, I absolutely don't have a problem. But I have your third vacation request on my desk. When I turned down your other two, I told you why. You're essential to several key operations."

"I don't think that taking three days off would jeopardize any of those cases. I need to go out of town." That was all Neal wanted to say. He wasn't sure just what Carlton knew about him and Peter.

"To go to London? To see Peter Burke?"

Apparently everything. "Yes."

"For the record, I have no problem with your relationship with another man. I have no problem with Burke's relationship with another man. Hell, I signed a dozen petitions to reinstate Frank Buttino. But I do have a problem with two agents in the same division being involved with each other. What happens when your relationship goes south?"

"I don't think that's going to happen, sir. Peter and I have known each other since grade school. We've been together for sixteen years - since high school. This is not an office fling."

Carlton stared at him like he'd just grown a third eye. "Seriously? Sixteen years? That's twice as long as both my marriages put together." He shook his head. "So, you were together when you were undercover?"

"And we remained completely out of contact for the entire time. Not even a phone call."

"But you've been in touch with him while he's been away the last few weeks."

"Yeah - we've been writing to each other, I got him an international cell phone and we've talked a few times." Neal wasn't going to mention email.

"Long separations are hard. I get that."

"Sir - it's just three days - I'm piggybacking on Veteran's Day, which is a Tuesday. I'll be back in the office the following Monday."

"Have you bought your plane tickets yet?"

"Excuse me?"

"Would it be difficult to change your flight?"

"Actually, I haven't made any plans. You haven't approved my request for time off."

Carlton scribbled something on the page in front of him. "Take the full week and leave this Friday - you and Burke will come home together. We're almost at the Thanksgiving break and nothing is going to move after next week anyway. You've got a laptop?"

Neal nodded, feeling slightly overwhelmed.

"Take it with you and keep in touch. Brief Franklin and Grainger on your files and set up a schedule when you can talk with them and make sure everything's running smoothly. If any of those cases go south because you're out of town, it'll be reflected in your performance review. Now, get out."


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

Week Six

Date: November 10, 1999
To: ncaffrey@ny.fbi.gov
From: pburke@ny.fbi.gov
Subject: NO SUBJECT

Agent Caffrey:

I look forward to meeting with you tomorrow evening at the Mayfair Hotel. It has been quite a while since we've seen each other and I am anxious to catch up on what's been going on since we last met.

Best regards,

Peter Burke

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

Receipt from Boots UK (pharmacy), Heathrow Airport

Qty 1 - Condom (Troj) £3.50
Qty 1 - Personal lubrcnt (KY) £7.42
Pre-Tax Total - £10.92
VAT (17.5%) - £1.91
__________________
Total - £12.83

FIN

Comments

[ladyrose42.livejournal.com]

Sweet. LOL at receipt.

[elrhiarhodan]

Thank you!