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elrhiarhodanTitle: Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell/Don’t Ask, Don’t Care (Part 2 of 2)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Peter/Neal
Spoilers: Modern Military A/U
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Word Count: ~12,000 Total
Summary: Admiral Peter Burke is having a bad day. He walks into a dive bar off of K Street in Washington and meets Commander Neal Caffrey. To say they hit it off would be a vast understatement. And that’s going a problem of monumental proportions for both men.
Part 1
__________________
11:35 pm, September 19, 2011
“I’m going to come out. It’s the only way I can do this. It’s the only way to get around Merkelson and keep my sanity and what’s left of my soul.”
The tension in the room suddenly magnified.
“Neal – no, don’t. That would be a big mistake.”
“Why? The bastard can’t do a damn thing to me anymore.” There was am edge of desperation in Neal’s voice.
“Maybe, maybe not. But didn’t you just say that the Colonel is looking to use Conduct Unbecoming and Sexual Misconduct as alternatives?”
“Yeah - but he’d still need grounds - and he’ll get none. You know that. The simple fact that I’m gay and out of the closet is no longer grounds for separation; you of all people should know that. And in any event, Merkelson knows I’m resigning my commission in February.”
Peter gave a frustrated sigh. “And he can make your life miserable for the next five months. You want to spend the time handling traffic violations in Dover? Or worse?” He hated to see Neal’s brilliant prospects die on the vine.
“Peter - prosecuting traffic violations would be a step up and out of the filth. In the last four years, I’ve participated in the prosecution of ninety-seven Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell cases. I wonder how I can look at myself in the mirror anymore.”
“I understand, baby. I just don’t want to see you do anything stupid. You deserve better than what’s going to happen to you if you do this.” Peter got up and sat on the edge of Neal’s chair, running a hand through his lover’s curls.
Neal looked up at him. “If you’re worried that this will impact you, I won’t say anything.”
Peter shook his head. “That’s the last thing I’m concerned about. I just don’t want to see you hurt, see you screw your life up.”
“I know, I know.” Neal turned his face into Peter’s palm, kissing it lightly. “Today is one giant step forward, but our legs are still shackled.”
__________________
February, 2010
“So, are you going to hire a date for the big White House dinner?”
Neal was lounging on their bed - well, his bed since Neal’s apartment was ten floors down and in a completely different quadrant of the building. But for all intents and purposes, Neal lived here, as dangerous as that may be for the two of them.
And Peter wouldn’t have it any differently.
The question wasn’t nonchalant, but his answer was. “It’s already taken care of. She had to be cleared by State.”
“You don’t have any problems using a paid escort? A hooker?”
He took off his tie, opened his collar and looked at Neal from the mirror. He had a pillow tucked under his chin and looked like jailbait. “These women aren’t prostitutes, Neal.”
“Maybe not for you, but for the straight guys they’re going out with, you’ve got to realize that sex is going to be part of the deal.”
Peter sighed and turned around. “But for me, sex is not part of the deal. There’s nothing to be jealous about.”
“I’m not jealous.” Neal flipped over and buried his face in the pillow.
“No?” Peter sat down on the edge of the bed and rubbed a hand up and down Neal’s back. “There’s nothing to ever be jealous about. You can’t imagine that I’d ever …”
Neal turned back over and Peter’s resolve began to melt.
“I know that, I wouldn’t ever think that you’d do anything like that. It’s just - just the thought of a stranger’s hands on you. Touching and thinking that maybe she’ll get lucky in the back seat of the limo. Thinking that even though this guy - this gorgeous guy with the kind eyes and sweet smile didn’t order any ‘extras’ - maybe he’s an old school gentleman who’ll whisk her away from this life.”
Peter heard the sincerity in every word, but it still wasn’t the whole truth. His lover had more layers than an onion. “And even if my ‘companion’ for the evening does think that - nothing is going to happen. She can be Helen of Troy and it wouldn’t make a difference to me.”
Neal shook his head. “Peter - it’s not that, you know it. I hate the thought of her touching you in public like she has every right to. That it’s all right for you to hire a call girl - escort - whatever you want to name it, and it’s all right for everyone to know that she’s being paid by the hour or the evening, and it would kill your career if you walked into that ballroom and introduced me as your partner.” Neal lifted his chin and looked away. Peter could see the tears in his eyes.
He wrapped his arms around Neal, pulling the resisting body close. “Neal, baby - sometimes I forget.” Peter pressed a kiss onto his forehead.
“You forget what?” The question was muffled, Neal had buried his face in the crook of Peter’s neck.
“I forget that you’ve never had to deal with this; that you’ve never been in a relationship like this. That you’ve never had to deal with the realities ...”
Neal pulled away. “What do you mean that I’ve never had to deal with the realities? I’ve been so deep in the closet that I was thirty-two years old before I really made love with another man. That I don’t understand? I see those god-damned fucking realities every day of my life. I spend most of my time prosecuting - excuse me - persecuting my fellow servicemen and women for the crime of not hiding who they are. How dare you say that to me!”
“Neal - that wasn’t what I meant.” Peter cursed himself - he did sound like a callous prick.
“Then what did you mean?” Peter wasn’t surprised at the anger in Neal’s voice.
“That you’re not accustomed to dealing with the political realities of life in the power circle in Washington. Where even straight men will leave their real partners at home and take paid escorts because having a beautiful young thing on your arm makes you looks better to your rivals than the slightly overweight girlfriend who works for some think tank in Maryland.”
“You’re still not getting it, Peter. Those men can bring their dumpy girlfriends if they had the balls to do so. You can’t bring me, you’ll never be able to acknowledge me or do anything more that accept my salute if we ever met in public. I’m invisible to the rest of the world, and damn it, it hurts. It hurts like hell.”
“Neal …” Peter reached for him again, but Neal pushed him away. There was nothing he could say that would make this any better.
“Doesn’t it bother you that you have to do this?”
Peter sighed. “Of course it does. I was married for a decade just to keep the rumors away.” Elizabeth had been a good friend, and still was. Their marriage – such as it was – had benefited them both. In the ten years they were married, they cohabited for a mere eighteen months. She got the support she needed during some bad times and he got the beard he needed, one good enough to ensure his promotion to flag officer rank. The only thing he had made her promise was to tell him if she fell in love.
“Neal, I’m sorry, I am so sorry. I guess I’ve become so accustomed to the awful reality I didn’t realize the toll it was taking on you.”
From the expression on Neal’s face, he could see that this apology wasn’t cutting it. “I’m an ass - a jackass. It doesn’t bother me because I don’t let myself think about it. It’s completely separate from this - from us, and that’s wrong. Maybe I’m too much of a political animal - it should bother me. It should hurt every time I step out that door and leave you behind.”
“And it doesn’t?” The sadness in Neal’s voice was heartbreaking.
Peter looked at Neal, and met his eyes. “It does. It hurts like hell but I bury it. Like I bury everything else for the sake of my oaths and my country. I wish it were different, I wish I wasn’t who I am, I wish you weren’t who you were. I wish we could walk down a street and hold hands and have no one look or whisper. I wish I could do something as simple as walking into a ballroom with you at my side, instead of some candy floss bimbo I’m paying by the hour.”
“What would happen if you showed up without the arm candy?”
Peter shrugged. “At an industry function - probably nothing. At a political fundraiser - maybe a whisper or two if it was a constant thing, and for something as important as a State Dinner at the White House, there would certainly be talk.”
“And you can’t afford the slightest bit of innuendo, right?” There was a wealth of bitterness in that question.
“Neither of us can. You know that.”
“All too well.” But Neal really didn’t know just how dangerous any innuendo would be, to his career and his mission.
Peter swallowed. “I wish to hell I didn’t have to play these stupid games. Kissing ass is not something I enjoy.” He leaned over his lover, hand bracketing that beautiful face. “Neal - I know how much you hate this, don’t think I am insensitive to the cost of this hidden life.”
“I know - and I’m sorry too. I should be more understanding, I guess.” There was still a bit of sadness in Neal’s eyes, though.
“You know the President campaigned to repeal Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. It’s going to happen.”
Neal pushed him away and sat up. “And he has repeatedly refused to give any timeframes. Just another promise that’ll never be fulfilled.”
He wanted to tell Neal, tell him that he’d been appointed to the Comprehensive Review Working Group, that his mandate during this tour of duty was to examine the consequences of the repeal, the effect on morale in the elite branches of the Navy. But he couldn’t - his participation and that of his fellow flag officers was deemed Top Secret. Sometimes he wanted to die from the irony.
“Neal, it’s going to happen because the world has changed and the Services need to change with it.” There - not a lie, just a misdirection.
“I’ll see it when I believe it.” Anger coated every word.
“Please believe, Neal. We have to have hope.”
Dinner that night was strained and when Neal said he’d prefer to sleep in his own bed, Peter just looked at him and said okay.
The next night wasn’t much better. Neal texted that he was working late, trial prep on a homicide case and didn’t want to be disturbed. Peter texted back that he understood, and got no response. He was uneasy and wanted to fix things, but he stopped himself from reaching out to Neal. There was only one way to make this right.
Peter pulled the card for the escort service out of his wallet and dialed. It took a moment and several thousand dollars, but he cancelled his date for the State Dinner. He’d call the White House in the morning and let them know he would be attending alone.
So even if it was the end of them - if Neal called it quits between them, at least he did the right thing.
It turned out that Peter didn’t see Neal or hear from him for the rest of the week and by Friday night, he was exhausted - physically and emotionally. The week was grueling, he was working on his first presentation to the heads of the Working Group reviewing the repeal of DADT. It was going to be controversial and quite likely set him right in the line of fire for those who wanted to maintain the status quo, the old guard who still saw homosexuality as a deviancy to be rooted out and destroyed, in the name of “unit cohesion” and “troop morale.”
As tired as he was, Peter wasn’t looking forward to yet another night in an empty apartment, in that vast empty bed. For all his adult life, up until that April evening almost two years ago, he’d gone to sleep alone, woke up alone, lived alone, even when he was married. But since then, he had become accustomed to sharing his life - or the part of his life that no one could see. He missed Neal, the sound of his breathing, the warm scent of his body. The daily habits and annoyances of having another person underfoot. Even when their schedules didn’t mesh, there was always the expectation that he’d see Neal in the next twenty-four hours.
Now, there was nothing other than the sense that everything was broken. That he’d broken them. He thought about going over to Neal’s apartment, to at least try and apologize. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the person standing next to him at the lobby elevator bank.
“Good evening, Admiral.” Neal’s quiet voice was a welcome sound. Peter turned and let the smallest hint of a smile curve his lips.
“Evening, Commander. How are you?”
“Doing better, now.”
The express elevator for the penthouse floors chimed its arrival and Peter held out a hand for Neal to precede him. He swiped his access card and they rode up to his floor in silence. It reminded him of another elevator ride.
They didn’t say anything until they were inside and the door shut and locked.
They spoke at the same time. “Neal - I’ve got something I have to tell you.”
“Peter, I’m sorry.”
They tripped over themselves, each trying to speak.
“Neal - listen. I’ve cancelled my date for the State Dinner.”
“Peter - no. You said…”
“I know what I said, and it doesn’t matter. I have a choice - I can live a lie and make both of us miserable, or I can live as close to the truth as possible and I can have you in my life. You are too important to me. I’ll deal with the consequences.”
He pulled Neal into an embrace, sighing at the rightness of this man in his arms.
“Peter, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I gave you that ultimatum.”
“Neal - you did no such thing. I don’t recall ever hearing the words ‘if you hire an escort I’m leaving you’ come from your mouth.”
“You’re wrong - I may not have used those exact words, but it was implied. I’ve been ashamed of myself all week.”
“It doesn’t matter what you said - you were right.”
“But …”
Peter kissed Neal, more to shut him up than anything. “But nothing. I love you, baby, and I’ve been a selfish bastard.”
Neal stepped back, a joyous expression on his face. “You love me?”
“Yes, Neal. I do, and I don’t know what I’d do without you. I can’t believe I’ve waited this long to tell you.”
Neal smiled, and Peter thought it was like a sunrise. “Thank God.” Neal kissed him, all sweetness and promise. “I love you too and I was so afraid you didn’t feel the same way.”
__________________
11:46 pm, September 19, 2011
“Neal, there’s something I need to tell you.” Peter hadn’t planned on saying anything tonight, but with Neal’s plans to tell his boss, he needed to know what was going on.
Neal looked up at him, worried. “What’s wrong?”
“I am retiring next year. I’ve been formally told that my promotion will not be presented to the Senate for confirmation in January.”
“But why?”
Peter shrugged. “A lot of things – the budgetary climate, the winding down in the Gulf, giving other officers the opportunity for promotion. Usual stuff. It happens. No promotion is ever a given.” He tried to sound nonchalant about it. But it did hurt.
“When?”
“Early February – right around the same time you get out.” The date was marked in black on his calendar. How different they were, Neal couldn’t wait to leave the Service.
“No, how long have you known?”
“A few weeks, unofficially. I was told formally last week. I didn’t want to say anything – I didn’t want to spoil our celebration tonight.”
Neal gave him a searching look. “It’s more than just the budgetary climate, isn’t it?”
“Neal…”
“Come on, Peter – I’m not stupid. It’s politics.”
Peter didn’t say anything.
“It was your work – this is payback, right?”
“No, Neal. That wasn’t it, not at all.”
“Bullshit – they want you out for your work on the repeal.”
“Neal – can you please let this rest? We’ve got …” Peter looked at his watch. “Less than ten minutes until midnight.”
Neal looked like he wanted to continue the interrogation and then thought better of it. “Okay – for now. We have to celebrate.”
Except that this celebration was going to be so very bittersweet.
__________________
November 30, 2010
Peter let himself into his apartment, tossing his cap on the hall table and dropping his briefcase on the floor underneath it. There was music playing in the living room. It was something ancient and complex, the rise and fall of a choir singing two verses simultaneously, the sour harmony of medieval instruments provided a melancholy counterpoint. Peter recognized the piece, Ad Mortem Festinamus from Le Llibre Vermeil de Monserrat. Not his usual tastes, nor Neal’s, but a friend of Neal’s had given him tickets to an Early Music festival in Georgetown, and they both found it surprisingly enjoyable. Enough so that Neal had downloaded a few albums and added them to their joint music collection.
The track ended and something completely different began. His favorite Philip Glass composition. It still amazed him that they were so compatible on so many vectors. And to be able to come home to this, after such a long and difficult day.
Neal came out of the bedroom, dressed in a v-necked sweater and chinos. He’d been home for a while.
“Hey there.”
“Hey back.”
Peter pulled Neal into his arms and noticed the extra brightness in his eyes. “What’s up?” But he didn’t wait for an answer – he kissed him, savoring the sweetness of Neal’s lips, the warm, wine-scented breath.
Neal kissed him back, and desire escalated, the air was thick and hot. They danced around the furniture, a waltz of kisses, out of the room, down the hall and into the bedroom. Neal struggled to get his uniform jacket opened, to slide his hands up his back, down into his waistband.
They fell together onto the mattress and clothes went flying as the music changed again. Neal had an unholy love for Ravel’s Boléro, and there were at least fifteen different versions on his iPod. They popped up at random, and with great frequency. It was a good thing that their home life was so private, because it had gotten to the point that they both had Pavlovian responses to the opening bars.
Peter got Neal’s sweater off, his pants off and finally his briefs. He sat back, looking at his lover, naked but for a pair of black socks. Neal was casually stroking himself in time with the music. Peter didn’t bother getting out of his own clothes as he pushed Neal’s hand away and took his cock in his mouth.
It was a cliché (and a good one, for all that), but the other night, Neal had given him a blow job that started with the first notes of the flute and didn’t let him finish until the great finale – that eruption of brass and woodwinds and drums – started. He wasn’t a man given to competition – at least not in bed – but Peter wanted to return the pleasure, and maybe earn a little interest.
By the time the last measure reached its noisy conclusion, Peter was pulling hard, drawing sloppy seconds out of Neal, who was whimpering in pleasured distress. He let Neal’s spent cock slide out of his lips and wiped his sticky lips across his lover’s skin. Neal grumbled a bit and Peter kissed that delicious bit of no-man’s land where the smooth hard belly gave way to the thatch of now-sweaty pubes. He was energized.
“Come on.”
Neal was sleepy. “I just came, twice.”
Peter tried to get Neal into a sitting position. “Come on, I want a shower.”
“And you want me to give you a blow job.”
“You get awfully cranky after sex.”
“And you’ve got way too much energy, old man.”
“Yeah, yeah. Come on – take a shower with me and I’ll forgive you for that ‘old man’ crack, eventually.”
He pulled and pushed and bullied him into the shower and let Neal give him a hand job instead, joking that he really didn’t have to work too hard. The pump – as it happened – was already primed.
They didn’t bother dressing. Neal wrapped himself in a fluffy white terrycloth robe and climbed onto the couch in the living room. Peter put on sweats and a pullover. He made a bowl of popcorn and fetched a few bottles of beer; the best part of the evening was yet to come.
“You sleeping?” Peter put the beer on the coffee table and sat down on the couch with the bowl of popcorn.
“No. Just resting my eyes.”
“Do you know what happened today?”
Neal’s eyes snapped open and fixed on him like targeting lasers. “I was going to tell you when you came in, but you distracted me with the sex and everything.” He grinned. “I heard there was a briefing at the DoD. Secretary Gates and Admiral Mullen and something about a working group. I was taking witness statements when the briefing aired on C-SPAN.”
“You didn’t watch it?”
“Nope - haven’t had the chance. But I do know that the report was favorable. You should have heard Merkelson screaming at his computer.”
“Wanna watch the briefing? I DVR’d it.”
“You knew this was coming?”
Peter nodded. “Come on, it’s history in the making. The Secretary and Admiral Mullen will be testifying before Congress next week, but this is good stuff.” Peter pulled Neal against him, snuggle-close, picked up the remote and called up the program.
The briefing room was small but it was hard to tell once Gates and Mullen came in and sat down. The Secretary of Defense spoke about the establishment of the Working Group, its leadership under the Department’s General Counsel and the Commander of the U.S. Army in Europe and then about the conclusions contained in the report.
The words were dry, precise and resonant. It was clear that the Secretary was highly in favor of the repeal and believed that despite the initial disruption in the Services, the repeal would have a long term and very lasting benefit, which Admiral Mullen confirmed.
As the briefing shifted to question and answer mode and the two men ceded the podium to the actual authors of the report, Neal sighed with happiness. “This is really going to happen.”
Peter smiled. “I told you it would, oh ye of little faith.”
He sipped his beer, and watched as the General Counsel of the Department of Defense, Jeh C. Johnson and Army General Ham deftly fielded questions about the report, the methodologies and the process of implementing the repeal. There was a brief pause in the questioning when General Ham requested that several members of the Working Group join him on the podium to answer some of the more detailed questions about the reporting and data analysis.
At this point, Peter stopped watching the screen and kept his eyes on Neal’s face. This was a moment he would cherish forever. As the cameras refocused on the new bodies in the chairs on stage, he plucked the bottle of beer out of Neal’s hand and set it aside. No point in having it spill all over the place.
The C-SPAN voice-over identified the new speakers as Marine Corps General Arthur Robinson and Admiral Peter Burke. Neal looked at him and then back at the television. “You…”
“Yeah, me. Now, shush.”
Peter pretended to watch his performance, but really kept an eye on Neal, who seemed to have forgotten how to blink.
There was a question from a New York Times reporter about troop morale and unit cohesion in the Navy, particularly when facing long deployments at sea, and he followed the cue from Admiral Mullen to answer the question.
The C-SPAN announcer again identified him as Admiral Peter Burke, and there seemed to be a breathless quality to it this time.
“This is a non-issue, Ma’am. Sailors are expected to comport themselves and treat their fellow service personnel with respect and dignity at all times, regardless of sexual orientation. Sexual misconduct is not limited to homosexual behavior and any service man or woman who violates the codes of conduct required during a deployment will be disciplined in accordance with the Uniform Code of Military Justice. The suggestion that homosexual behavior would be unconstrained because of the repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell is borne of stereotyping and bias. The U.S. Navy has the best trained men and woman in the world, and regardless of their personal orientation, they serve because doing so is an honor and a privilege.”
The next few questions were anticlimactic, at least to Peter. The briefing ended and the C-SPAN logo with the next program appeared on the screen. He turned the television off and put the now-empty bowl and his beer on the coffee table.
“Before you say anything, my work was classified - Top Secret. I couldn’t tell you about my appointment to the Working Group. The seals came off this morning - a day early.”
He didn’t have to wonder what Neal was thinking. If he were in Neal’s shoes, he’d be furious at him.
“I was going to tell you tonight - I didn’t know I’d be part of the briefing until this morning. They gave me a copy of the questions the reporters were going to ask and my answer was personally vetted by Admiral Mullen. The Head of the god-damned Joint Chiefs approved my answer, word for word.”
“Peter - I don’t know what to say.”
“I’ve wanted to tell you so many times - I wanted to let you know that this hell was going to end. But I couldn’t. This is bigger than us, bigger than anything - and I couldn’t compromise the work.”
Neal’s eyes were huge, his cheeks flushed. “I understand. Intellectually, I do - it’s just …” Neal couldn’t finish the thought.
“Are you angry?”
“With you?”
Peter nodded, swallowing against a suddenly dry mouth.
“How can I be? I know what classified means.” Neal kissed him. “I do wish I knew what you were doing, but it’s okay. It’s more than okay.” He kissed him again. “I’m so proud of you.”
“It’s not a done deal – the Administration wants this to go through Congress, full House and Senate approval - and getting sixty in the Senate is going to be difficult. There will be a waiting period too before implementation. You can’t just walk outside and shout to the world ‘I’m gay’ yet.”
They lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, lost in thought. Peter figured that Neal was enjoying the fantasy of telling his homophobic boss that he was gay. But Neal’s question to him was a surprise.
“You aren’t going to come out, are you?”
He sighed. “No, I can’t. ”
Neal shifted, resting his head against his shoulder. “If you hadn’t been on the Working Group, you would – wouldn’t you?”
Peter didn’t answer right away. “I wish I could tell you yes. I wish I could say that I’m brave enough to be one of the first ranking officers to come out, but I don’t know.” He braced himself on an elbow and looked down at Neal. “Are you disappointed?”
“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t, but the fact is, you can’t jeopardize the Working Group report. We don’t get to live our lives playing what-ifs and maybes. I love you, and I am proud of you.”
__________________
11:59 pm, September 19, 2011
He got up and went to retrieve the bottle of bubbly they had put away for this very moment and Neal set a pair of champagne flutes on the bar. It felt a little like New Year’s Eve. Peter kept an eye on his watch and the second hand swept up to its perpetual destination.
He looked over at Neal, who didn’t wear one and was counting down the seconds from the display on his smart phone.
“Six – five – four – three – two – one!”
No fireworks, no cheering crowd on the Mall. The only sound of celebration came from the cork as it was eased out of the bottle. He poured them each a glass.
“To you, Admiral Peter Burke – for helping make this happen.” Neal smiled at him over the rim of his glass.
And he offered a toast in response. “And to you, Commander Neal Caffrey – for having the courage of your convictions.”
The champagne was dry and sharp – not unlike the moment. “I’ve been thinking, Neal.”
“Oh? Should I be concerned?” There was no real anxiety in that question.
“Remember when I said I couldn’t come out?”
Neal nodded. “Have you changed your mind – now that you’re being forced into retirement?”
“Yeah, sort of. I won’t make an announcement – I can’t do that. But I’m not going to live in the shadows any more. We don’t have to live in the shadows. We go out, we don’t avoid places where we’d be seen and I introduce you properly.”
Neal chuckled at the last. “No one puts Baby in a corner?”
“Something like that. There’s no reason to hide. I’m sick of hiding, I’m sick of lying and I’m sick of denying what I am. And I’m not going to do it anymore.” As he said it out loud, Peter felt a weight lift off him. He’d been carrying it for so long; he never realized it was there.
Neal put his glass down and reached into his breast pocket. “I’m glad you feel that way.” He pulled out a box. “I feel like I should go down on one knee.”
Peter swallowed, stunned. “Neal. Oh God, Neal.”
“Do you want me to ask, or are you going for a preemptive strike?”
Peter shook his head, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. He went over to his desk and retrieved something, a small, square box. Not unlike the one in Neal’s hand. He held it out. “Great minds…”
“Think alike.”
“Ask me, Neal. I want you to ask me.”
Neal licked his lips.
“Do that again and I’ll kiss the question out of you.”
“Peter Burke, will you marry me?”
“Yes, and Neal Caffrey, will you marry me?”
“Yes. Forever.” Neal handed him the box and when he opened it he couldn’t stifle a bark of laughter. At Neal’s slightly hurt look, he handed him his box, and then Neal laughed too.
They had given each other the same thing, their Annapolis class rings.
“Like you said, great minds do think alike.” Peter took Neal’s ring out and went to put it on.
“I had it engraved.” Neal then blushed.
Peter looked inside the ring band. I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine. He swallowed hard.
“Yours is engraved too, but not quite so eloquently.” Peter had their initials added in the classic intertwined style. “I am looking forward to putting a wedding ring on your finger.”
“How would you feel about a date in late March - early April?” Neal’s voice cracked on the last syllable.
Peter nodded, he was equally broken up. “Sounds good to me.”
Neal looked at him, and Peter thought there was a glimmer of mischief behind those eyes. “One question, Peter.”
“Yes?”
“Are we going to be ‘Burke-Caffrey’ or ‘Caffrey-Burke’?”
__________________
Epilogue - Mid April, 2012
“That’s all of it.” Peter watched the movers unload the last of the boxes and furniture into their new home. It was a fully attached brownstone, albeit with pale blue siding covering the old brick in the up-and-coming Fort Greene neighborhood in Brooklyn. This place was old - they both loved the vast change from the polished glass and marble of their respective apartments in Virginia, but the recent renovations made it perfect for just the two of them.
And a dog or two, according to Neal - who was already researching Golden Retriever breeders and rescue operations. Neal didn’t seem to care that Peter would be the one doing all the work, since he wasn’t the one starting a new job with a white shoe law firm in Manhattan. Peter didn’t mind, though. It was just what he wanted too.
Neal wrapped an arm around his waist and they contemplated the empty living room. “It seemed like so much more when we were packing.”
“I think it’s the lack of furniture.” Both of their apartments at the Concord had come furnished, and the only thing they brought with them was the television and bed from Peter’s place, which the movers had already set up.
“Shouldn’t take long to unpack.”
“Once we get some furniture.” Neal’s stomach rumbled and he clapped a hand over it.
“Wanna go get something to eat? Check out the neighborhood?”
“Sure, sounds good.”
Peter barely remembered to grab his keys – it was a novel sensation to have physical locks and a front door.
Neal looked vaguely lost – he patted his head and chuckled. “It feels so strange to be going out without cover.”
“Yeah.” He had to agree. Life after thirty-plus years in the Navy was going to be filled with plenty of habits to break.
The late afternoon was a little cool - Spring was still a few weeks away in New York. Back in DC, the cherry blossoms had come and gone already. Here, the leaves were just barely in bloom.
He locked up and joined Neal, who was waiting for him on the sidewalk. This stretch of DeKalb Avenue was mostly a residential neighborhood and apartment buildings shared walls with single family homes all along the block. The sidewalk was crowded, with parents with strollers and baby carriages and small children tagging along, older kids on skateboards, and quite a few senior citizens. It seemed like half of Brooklyn was out and enjoying the day.
They headed in the same direction as most of the foot traffic, walking shoulder to shoulder, almost as if they were on parade formation.
Neal bumped him - a little bit of a hipcheck. Peter looked at him, puzzled. Neal smiled and held out his hand.
He grinned back as he took it, weaving their fingers together. They walked that way for a few blocks, wordless, happy. A small boy, maybe three years old, came barreling at them, chasing a red ball. Neal stepped to one side and lifted their hands and the child ran beneath the arch they made. He got his ball and ran back to a frazzled young woman pushing an empty stroller.
“Jamie, what to do you say to these nice men?”
The little boy turned around and lisped “excuse me.” He smiled at them, waved and then ducked behind his mother, suddenly shy.
The woman smiled at them too as she passed, the little boy hugging his ball and clinging to her hand. “Have a good afternoon, gentlemen.”
They continued to walk hand in hand, perfectly at ease together in the April afternoon sunshine.
FIN
Meta and text notes
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Peter/Neal
Spoilers: Modern Military A/U
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Word Count: ~12,000 Total
Summary: Admiral Peter Burke is having a bad day. He walks into a dive bar off of K Street in Washington and meets Commander Neal Caffrey. To say they hit it off would be a vast understatement. And that’s going a problem of monumental proportions for both men.
Part 1
11:35 pm, September 19, 2011
“I’m going to come out. It’s the only way I can do this. It’s the only way to get around Merkelson and keep my sanity and what’s left of my soul.”
The tension in the room suddenly magnified.
“Neal – no, don’t. That would be a big mistake.”
“Why? The bastard can’t do a damn thing to me anymore.” There was am edge of desperation in Neal’s voice.
“Maybe, maybe not. But didn’t you just say that the Colonel is looking to use Conduct Unbecoming and Sexual Misconduct as alternatives?”
“Yeah - but he’d still need grounds - and he’ll get none. You know that. The simple fact that I’m gay and out of the closet is no longer grounds for separation; you of all people should know that. And in any event, Merkelson knows I’m resigning my commission in February.”
Peter gave a frustrated sigh. “And he can make your life miserable for the next five months. You want to spend the time handling traffic violations in Dover? Or worse?” He hated to see Neal’s brilliant prospects die on the vine.
“Peter - prosecuting traffic violations would be a step up and out of the filth. In the last four years, I’ve participated in the prosecution of ninety-seven Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell cases. I wonder how I can look at myself in the mirror anymore.”
“I understand, baby. I just don’t want to see you do anything stupid. You deserve better than what’s going to happen to you if you do this.” Peter got up and sat on the edge of Neal’s chair, running a hand through his lover’s curls.
Neal looked up at him. “If you’re worried that this will impact you, I won’t say anything.”
Peter shook his head. “That’s the last thing I’m concerned about. I just don’t want to see you hurt, see you screw your life up.”
“I know, I know.” Neal turned his face into Peter’s palm, kissing it lightly. “Today is one giant step forward, but our legs are still shackled.”
February, 2010
“So, are you going to hire a date for the big White House dinner?”
Neal was lounging on their bed - well, his bed since Neal’s apartment was ten floors down and in a completely different quadrant of the building. But for all intents and purposes, Neal lived here, as dangerous as that may be for the two of them.
And Peter wouldn’t have it any differently.
The question wasn’t nonchalant, but his answer was. “It’s already taken care of. She had to be cleared by State.”
“You don’t have any problems using a paid escort? A hooker?”
He took off his tie, opened his collar and looked at Neal from the mirror. He had a pillow tucked under his chin and looked like jailbait. “These women aren’t prostitutes, Neal.”
“Maybe not for you, but for the straight guys they’re going out with, you’ve got to realize that sex is going to be part of the deal.”
Peter sighed and turned around. “But for me, sex is not part of the deal. There’s nothing to be jealous about.”
“I’m not jealous.” Neal flipped over and buried his face in the pillow.
“No?” Peter sat down on the edge of the bed and rubbed a hand up and down Neal’s back. “There’s nothing to ever be jealous about. You can’t imagine that I’d ever …”
Neal turned back over and Peter’s resolve began to melt.
“I know that, I wouldn’t ever think that you’d do anything like that. It’s just - just the thought of a stranger’s hands on you. Touching and thinking that maybe she’ll get lucky in the back seat of the limo. Thinking that even though this guy - this gorgeous guy with the kind eyes and sweet smile didn’t order any ‘extras’ - maybe he’s an old school gentleman who’ll whisk her away from this life.”
Peter heard the sincerity in every word, but it still wasn’t the whole truth. His lover had more layers than an onion. “And even if my ‘companion’ for the evening does think that - nothing is going to happen. She can be Helen of Troy and it wouldn’t make a difference to me.”
Neal shook his head. “Peter - it’s not that, you know it. I hate the thought of her touching you in public like she has every right to. That it’s all right for you to hire a call girl - escort - whatever you want to name it, and it’s all right for everyone to know that she’s being paid by the hour or the evening, and it would kill your career if you walked into that ballroom and introduced me as your partner.” Neal lifted his chin and looked away. Peter could see the tears in his eyes.
He wrapped his arms around Neal, pulling the resisting body close. “Neal, baby - sometimes I forget.” Peter pressed a kiss onto his forehead.
“You forget what?” The question was muffled, Neal had buried his face in the crook of Peter’s neck.
“I forget that you’ve never had to deal with this; that you’ve never been in a relationship like this. That you’ve never had to deal with the realities ...”
Neal pulled away. “What do you mean that I’ve never had to deal with the realities? I’ve been so deep in the closet that I was thirty-two years old before I really made love with another man. That I don’t understand? I see those god-damned fucking realities every day of my life. I spend most of my time prosecuting - excuse me - persecuting my fellow servicemen and women for the crime of not hiding who they are. How dare you say that to me!”
“Neal - that wasn’t what I meant.” Peter cursed himself - he did sound like a callous prick.
“Then what did you mean?” Peter wasn’t surprised at the anger in Neal’s voice.
“That you’re not accustomed to dealing with the political realities of life in the power circle in Washington. Where even straight men will leave their real partners at home and take paid escorts because having a beautiful young thing on your arm makes you looks better to your rivals than the slightly overweight girlfriend who works for some think tank in Maryland.”
“You’re still not getting it, Peter. Those men can bring their dumpy girlfriends if they had the balls to do so. You can’t bring me, you’ll never be able to acknowledge me or do anything more that accept my salute if we ever met in public. I’m invisible to the rest of the world, and damn it, it hurts. It hurts like hell.”
“Neal …” Peter reached for him again, but Neal pushed him away. There was nothing he could say that would make this any better.
“Doesn’t it bother you that you have to do this?”
Peter sighed. “Of course it does. I was married for a decade just to keep the rumors away.” Elizabeth had been a good friend, and still was. Their marriage – such as it was – had benefited them both. In the ten years they were married, they cohabited for a mere eighteen months. She got the support she needed during some bad times and he got the beard he needed, one good enough to ensure his promotion to flag officer rank. The only thing he had made her promise was to tell him if she fell in love.
“Neal, I’m sorry, I am so sorry. I guess I’ve become so accustomed to the awful reality I didn’t realize the toll it was taking on you.”
From the expression on Neal’s face, he could see that this apology wasn’t cutting it. “I’m an ass - a jackass. It doesn’t bother me because I don’t let myself think about it. It’s completely separate from this - from us, and that’s wrong. Maybe I’m too much of a political animal - it should bother me. It should hurt every time I step out that door and leave you behind.”
“And it doesn’t?” The sadness in Neal’s voice was heartbreaking.
Peter looked at Neal, and met his eyes. “It does. It hurts like hell but I bury it. Like I bury everything else for the sake of my oaths and my country. I wish it were different, I wish I wasn’t who I am, I wish you weren’t who you were. I wish we could walk down a street and hold hands and have no one look or whisper. I wish I could do something as simple as walking into a ballroom with you at my side, instead of some candy floss bimbo I’m paying by the hour.”
“What would happen if you showed up without the arm candy?”
Peter shrugged. “At an industry function - probably nothing. At a political fundraiser - maybe a whisper or two if it was a constant thing, and for something as important as a State Dinner at the White House, there would certainly be talk.”
“And you can’t afford the slightest bit of innuendo, right?” There was a wealth of bitterness in that question.
“Neither of us can. You know that.”
“All too well.” But Neal really didn’t know just how dangerous any innuendo would be, to his career and his mission.
Peter swallowed. “I wish to hell I didn’t have to play these stupid games. Kissing ass is not something I enjoy.” He leaned over his lover, hand bracketing that beautiful face. “Neal - I know how much you hate this, don’t think I am insensitive to the cost of this hidden life.”
“I know - and I’m sorry too. I should be more understanding, I guess.” There was still a bit of sadness in Neal’s eyes, though.
“You know the President campaigned to repeal Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. It’s going to happen.”
Neal pushed him away and sat up. “And he has repeatedly refused to give any timeframes. Just another promise that’ll never be fulfilled.”
He wanted to tell Neal, tell him that he’d been appointed to the Comprehensive Review Working Group, that his mandate during this tour of duty was to examine the consequences of the repeal, the effect on morale in the elite branches of the Navy. But he couldn’t - his participation and that of his fellow flag officers was deemed Top Secret. Sometimes he wanted to die from the irony.
“Neal, it’s going to happen because the world has changed and the Services need to change with it.” There - not a lie, just a misdirection.
“I’ll see it when I believe it.” Anger coated every word.
“Please believe, Neal. We have to have hope.”
Dinner that night was strained and when Neal said he’d prefer to sleep in his own bed, Peter just looked at him and said okay.
The next night wasn’t much better. Neal texted that he was working late, trial prep on a homicide case and didn’t want to be disturbed. Peter texted back that he understood, and got no response. He was uneasy and wanted to fix things, but he stopped himself from reaching out to Neal. There was only one way to make this right.
Peter pulled the card for the escort service out of his wallet and dialed. It took a moment and several thousand dollars, but he cancelled his date for the State Dinner. He’d call the White House in the morning and let them know he would be attending alone.
So even if it was the end of them - if Neal called it quits between them, at least he did the right thing.
It turned out that Peter didn’t see Neal or hear from him for the rest of the week and by Friday night, he was exhausted - physically and emotionally. The week was grueling, he was working on his first presentation to the heads of the Working Group reviewing the repeal of DADT. It was going to be controversial and quite likely set him right in the line of fire for those who wanted to maintain the status quo, the old guard who still saw homosexuality as a deviancy to be rooted out and destroyed, in the name of “unit cohesion” and “troop morale.”
As tired as he was, Peter wasn’t looking forward to yet another night in an empty apartment, in that vast empty bed. For all his adult life, up until that April evening almost two years ago, he’d gone to sleep alone, woke up alone, lived alone, even when he was married. But since then, he had become accustomed to sharing his life - or the part of his life that no one could see. He missed Neal, the sound of his breathing, the warm scent of his body. The daily habits and annoyances of having another person underfoot. Even when their schedules didn’t mesh, there was always the expectation that he’d see Neal in the next twenty-four hours.
Now, there was nothing other than the sense that everything was broken. That he’d broken them. He thought about going over to Neal’s apartment, to at least try and apologize. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the person standing next to him at the lobby elevator bank.
“Good evening, Admiral.” Neal’s quiet voice was a welcome sound. Peter turned and let the smallest hint of a smile curve his lips.
“Evening, Commander. How are you?”
“Doing better, now.”
The express elevator for the penthouse floors chimed its arrival and Peter held out a hand for Neal to precede him. He swiped his access card and they rode up to his floor in silence. It reminded him of another elevator ride.
They didn’t say anything until they were inside and the door shut and locked.
They spoke at the same time. “Neal - I’ve got something I have to tell you.”
“Peter, I’m sorry.”
They tripped over themselves, each trying to speak.
“Neal - listen. I’ve cancelled my date for the State Dinner.”
“Peter - no. You said…”
“I know what I said, and it doesn’t matter. I have a choice - I can live a lie and make both of us miserable, or I can live as close to the truth as possible and I can have you in my life. You are too important to me. I’ll deal with the consequences.”
He pulled Neal into an embrace, sighing at the rightness of this man in his arms.
“Peter, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I gave you that ultimatum.”
“Neal - you did no such thing. I don’t recall ever hearing the words ‘if you hire an escort I’m leaving you’ come from your mouth.”
“You’re wrong - I may not have used those exact words, but it was implied. I’ve been ashamed of myself all week.”
“It doesn’t matter what you said - you were right.”
“But …”
Peter kissed Neal, more to shut him up than anything. “But nothing. I love you, baby, and I’ve been a selfish bastard.”
Neal stepped back, a joyous expression on his face. “You love me?”
“Yes, Neal. I do, and I don’t know what I’d do without you. I can’t believe I’ve waited this long to tell you.”
Neal smiled, and Peter thought it was like a sunrise. “Thank God.” Neal kissed him, all sweetness and promise. “I love you too and I was so afraid you didn’t feel the same way.”
11:46 pm, September 19, 2011
“Neal, there’s something I need to tell you.” Peter hadn’t planned on saying anything tonight, but with Neal’s plans to tell his boss, he needed to know what was going on.
Neal looked up at him, worried. “What’s wrong?”
“I am retiring next year. I’ve been formally told that my promotion will not be presented to the Senate for confirmation in January.”
“But why?”
Peter shrugged. “A lot of things – the budgetary climate, the winding down in the Gulf, giving other officers the opportunity for promotion. Usual stuff. It happens. No promotion is ever a given.” He tried to sound nonchalant about it. But it did hurt.
“When?”
“Early February – right around the same time you get out.” The date was marked in black on his calendar. How different they were, Neal couldn’t wait to leave the Service.
“No, how long have you known?”
“A few weeks, unofficially. I was told formally last week. I didn’t want to say anything – I didn’t want to spoil our celebration tonight.”
Neal gave him a searching look. “It’s more than just the budgetary climate, isn’t it?”
“Neal…”
“Come on, Peter – I’m not stupid. It’s politics.”
Peter didn’t say anything.
“It was your work – this is payback, right?”
“No, Neal. That wasn’t it, not at all.”
“Bullshit – they want you out for your work on the repeal.”
“Neal – can you please let this rest? We’ve got …” Peter looked at his watch. “Less than ten minutes until midnight.”
Neal looked like he wanted to continue the interrogation and then thought better of it. “Okay – for now. We have to celebrate.”
Except that this celebration was going to be so very bittersweet.
November 30, 2010
Peter let himself into his apartment, tossing his cap on the hall table and dropping his briefcase on the floor underneath it. There was music playing in the living room. It was something ancient and complex, the rise and fall of a choir singing two verses simultaneously, the sour harmony of medieval instruments provided a melancholy counterpoint. Peter recognized the piece, Ad Mortem Festinamus from Le Llibre Vermeil de Monserrat. Not his usual tastes, nor Neal’s, but a friend of Neal’s had given him tickets to an Early Music festival in Georgetown, and they both found it surprisingly enjoyable. Enough so that Neal had downloaded a few albums and added them to their joint music collection.
The track ended and something completely different began. His favorite Philip Glass composition. It still amazed him that they were so compatible on so many vectors. And to be able to come home to this, after such a long and difficult day.
Neal came out of the bedroom, dressed in a v-necked sweater and chinos. He’d been home for a while.
“Hey there.”
“Hey back.”
Peter pulled Neal into his arms and noticed the extra brightness in his eyes. “What’s up?” But he didn’t wait for an answer – he kissed him, savoring the sweetness of Neal’s lips, the warm, wine-scented breath.
Neal kissed him back, and desire escalated, the air was thick and hot. They danced around the furniture, a waltz of kisses, out of the room, down the hall and into the bedroom. Neal struggled to get his uniform jacket opened, to slide his hands up his back, down into his waistband.
They fell together onto the mattress and clothes went flying as the music changed again. Neal had an unholy love for Ravel’s Boléro, and there were at least fifteen different versions on his iPod. They popped up at random, and with great frequency. It was a good thing that their home life was so private, because it had gotten to the point that they both had Pavlovian responses to the opening bars.
Peter got Neal’s sweater off, his pants off and finally his briefs. He sat back, looking at his lover, naked but for a pair of black socks. Neal was casually stroking himself in time with the music. Peter didn’t bother getting out of his own clothes as he pushed Neal’s hand away and took his cock in his mouth.
It was a cliché (and a good one, for all that), but the other night, Neal had given him a blow job that started with the first notes of the flute and didn’t let him finish until the great finale – that eruption of brass and woodwinds and drums – started. He wasn’t a man given to competition – at least not in bed – but Peter wanted to return the pleasure, and maybe earn a little interest.
By the time the last measure reached its noisy conclusion, Peter was pulling hard, drawing sloppy seconds out of Neal, who was whimpering in pleasured distress. He let Neal’s spent cock slide out of his lips and wiped his sticky lips across his lover’s skin. Neal grumbled a bit and Peter kissed that delicious bit of no-man’s land where the smooth hard belly gave way to the thatch of now-sweaty pubes. He was energized.
“Come on.”
Neal was sleepy. “I just came, twice.”
Peter tried to get Neal into a sitting position. “Come on, I want a shower.”
“And you want me to give you a blow job.”
“You get awfully cranky after sex.”
“And you’ve got way too much energy, old man.”
“Yeah, yeah. Come on – take a shower with me and I’ll forgive you for that ‘old man’ crack, eventually.”
He pulled and pushed and bullied him into the shower and let Neal give him a hand job instead, joking that he really didn’t have to work too hard. The pump – as it happened – was already primed.
They didn’t bother dressing. Neal wrapped himself in a fluffy white terrycloth robe and climbed onto the couch in the living room. Peter put on sweats and a pullover. He made a bowl of popcorn and fetched a few bottles of beer; the best part of the evening was yet to come.
“You sleeping?” Peter put the beer on the coffee table and sat down on the couch with the bowl of popcorn.
“No. Just resting my eyes.”
“Do you know what happened today?”
Neal’s eyes snapped open and fixed on him like targeting lasers. “I was going to tell you when you came in, but you distracted me with the sex and everything.” He grinned. “I heard there was a briefing at the DoD. Secretary Gates and Admiral Mullen and something about a working group. I was taking witness statements when the briefing aired on C-SPAN.”
“You didn’t watch it?”
“Nope - haven’t had the chance. But I do know that the report was favorable. You should have heard Merkelson screaming at his computer.”
“Wanna watch the briefing? I DVR’d it.”
“You knew this was coming?”
Peter nodded. “Come on, it’s history in the making. The Secretary and Admiral Mullen will be testifying before Congress next week, but this is good stuff.” Peter pulled Neal against him, snuggle-close, picked up the remote and called up the program.
The briefing room was small but it was hard to tell once Gates and Mullen came in and sat down. The Secretary of Defense spoke about the establishment of the Working Group, its leadership under the Department’s General Counsel and the Commander of the U.S. Army in Europe and then about the conclusions contained in the report.
The words were dry, precise and resonant. It was clear that the Secretary was highly in favor of the repeal and believed that despite the initial disruption in the Services, the repeal would have a long term and very lasting benefit, which Admiral Mullen confirmed.
As the briefing shifted to question and answer mode and the two men ceded the podium to the actual authors of the report, Neal sighed with happiness. “This is really going to happen.”
Peter smiled. “I told you it would, oh ye of little faith.”
He sipped his beer, and watched as the General Counsel of the Department of Defense, Jeh C. Johnson and Army General Ham deftly fielded questions about the report, the methodologies and the process of implementing the repeal. There was a brief pause in the questioning when General Ham requested that several members of the Working Group join him on the podium to answer some of the more detailed questions about the reporting and data analysis.
At this point, Peter stopped watching the screen and kept his eyes on Neal’s face. This was a moment he would cherish forever. As the cameras refocused on the new bodies in the chairs on stage, he plucked the bottle of beer out of Neal’s hand and set it aside. No point in having it spill all over the place.
The C-SPAN voice-over identified the new speakers as Marine Corps General Arthur Robinson and Admiral Peter Burke. Neal looked at him and then back at the television. “You…”
“Yeah, me. Now, shush.”
Peter pretended to watch his performance, but really kept an eye on Neal, who seemed to have forgotten how to blink.
There was a question from a New York Times reporter about troop morale and unit cohesion in the Navy, particularly when facing long deployments at sea, and he followed the cue from Admiral Mullen to answer the question.
The C-SPAN announcer again identified him as Admiral Peter Burke, and there seemed to be a breathless quality to it this time.
“This is a non-issue, Ma’am. Sailors are expected to comport themselves and treat their fellow service personnel with respect and dignity at all times, regardless of sexual orientation. Sexual misconduct is not limited to homosexual behavior and any service man or woman who violates the codes of conduct required during a deployment will be disciplined in accordance with the Uniform Code of Military Justice. The suggestion that homosexual behavior would be unconstrained because of the repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell is borne of stereotyping and bias. The U.S. Navy has the best trained men and woman in the world, and regardless of their personal orientation, they serve because doing so is an honor and a privilege.”
The next few questions were anticlimactic, at least to Peter. The briefing ended and the C-SPAN logo with the next program appeared on the screen. He turned the television off and put the now-empty bowl and his beer on the coffee table.
“Before you say anything, my work was classified - Top Secret. I couldn’t tell you about my appointment to the Working Group. The seals came off this morning - a day early.”
He didn’t have to wonder what Neal was thinking. If he were in Neal’s shoes, he’d be furious at him.
“I was going to tell you tonight - I didn’t know I’d be part of the briefing until this morning. They gave me a copy of the questions the reporters were going to ask and my answer was personally vetted by Admiral Mullen. The Head of the god-damned Joint Chiefs approved my answer, word for word.”
“Peter - I don’t know what to say.”
“I’ve wanted to tell you so many times - I wanted to let you know that this hell was going to end. But I couldn’t. This is bigger than us, bigger than anything - and I couldn’t compromise the work.”
Neal’s eyes were huge, his cheeks flushed. “I understand. Intellectually, I do - it’s just …” Neal couldn’t finish the thought.
“Are you angry?”
“With you?”
Peter nodded, swallowing against a suddenly dry mouth.
“How can I be? I know what classified means.” Neal kissed him. “I do wish I knew what you were doing, but it’s okay. It’s more than okay.” He kissed him again. “I’m so proud of you.”
“It’s not a done deal – the Administration wants this to go through Congress, full House and Senate approval - and getting sixty in the Senate is going to be difficult. There will be a waiting period too before implementation. You can’t just walk outside and shout to the world ‘I’m gay’ yet.”
They lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, lost in thought. Peter figured that Neal was enjoying the fantasy of telling his homophobic boss that he was gay. But Neal’s question to him was a surprise.
“You aren’t going to come out, are you?”
He sighed. “No, I can’t. ”
Neal shifted, resting his head against his shoulder. “If you hadn’t been on the Working Group, you would – wouldn’t you?”
Peter didn’t answer right away. “I wish I could tell you yes. I wish I could say that I’m brave enough to be one of the first ranking officers to come out, but I don’t know.” He braced himself on an elbow and looked down at Neal. “Are you disappointed?”
“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t, but the fact is, you can’t jeopardize the Working Group report. We don’t get to live our lives playing what-ifs and maybes. I love you, and I am proud of you.”
11:59 pm, September 19, 2011
He got up and went to retrieve the bottle of bubbly they had put away for this very moment and Neal set a pair of champagne flutes on the bar. It felt a little like New Year’s Eve. Peter kept an eye on his watch and the second hand swept up to its perpetual destination.
He looked over at Neal, who didn’t wear one and was counting down the seconds from the display on his smart phone.
“Six – five – four – three – two – one!”
No fireworks, no cheering crowd on the Mall. The only sound of celebration came from the cork as it was eased out of the bottle. He poured them each a glass.
“To you, Admiral Peter Burke – for helping make this happen.” Neal smiled at him over the rim of his glass.
And he offered a toast in response. “And to you, Commander Neal Caffrey – for having the courage of your convictions.”
The champagne was dry and sharp – not unlike the moment. “I’ve been thinking, Neal.”
“Oh? Should I be concerned?” There was no real anxiety in that question.
“Remember when I said I couldn’t come out?”
Neal nodded. “Have you changed your mind – now that you’re being forced into retirement?”
“Yeah, sort of. I won’t make an announcement – I can’t do that. But I’m not going to live in the shadows any more. We don’t have to live in the shadows. We go out, we don’t avoid places where we’d be seen and I introduce you properly.”
Neal chuckled at the last. “No one puts Baby in a corner?”
“Something like that. There’s no reason to hide. I’m sick of hiding, I’m sick of lying and I’m sick of denying what I am. And I’m not going to do it anymore.” As he said it out loud, Peter felt a weight lift off him. He’d been carrying it for so long; he never realized it was there.
Neal put his glass down and reached into his breast pocket. “I’m glad you feel that way.” He pulled out a box. “I feel like I should go down on one knee.”
Peter swallowed, stunned. “Neal. Oh God, Neal.”
“Do you want me to ask, or are you going for a preemptive strike?”
Peter shook his head, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. He went over to his desk and retrieved something, a small, square box. Not unlike the one in Neal’s hand. He held it out. “Great minds…”
“Think alike.”
“Ask me, Neal. I want you to ask me.”
Neal licked his lips.
“Do that again and I’ll kiss the question out of you.”
“Peter Burke, will you marry me?”
“Yes, and Neal Caffrey, will you marry me?”
“Yes. Forever.” Neal handed him the box and when he opened it he couldn’t stifle a bark of laughter. At Neal’s slightly hurt look, he handed him his box, and then Neal laughed too.
They had given each other the same thing, their Annapolis class rings.
“Like you said, great minds do think alike.” Peter took Neal’s ring out and went to put it on.
“I had it engraved.” Neal then blushed.
Peter looked inside the ring band. I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine. He swallowed hard.
“Yours is engraved too, but not quite so eloquently.” Peter had their initials added in the classic intertwined style. “I am looking forward to putting a wedding ring on your finger.”
“How would you feel about a date in late March - early April?” Neal’s voice cracked on the last syllable.
Peter nodded, he was equally broken up. “Sounds good to me.”
Neal looked at him, and Peter thought there was a glimmer of mischief behind those eyes. “One question, Peter.”
“Yes?”
“Are we going to be ‘Burke-Caffrey’ or ‘Caffrey-Burke’?”
Epilogue - Mid April, 2012
“That’s all of it.” Peter watched the movers unload the last of the boxes and furniture into their new home. It was a fully attached brownstone, albeit with pale blue siding covering the old brick in the up-and-coming Fort Greene neighborhood in Brooklyn. This place was old - they both loved the vast change from the polished glass and marble of their respective apartments in Virginia, but the recent renovations made it perfect for just the two of them.
And a dog or two, according to Neal - who was already researching Golden Retriever breeders and rescue operations. Neal didn’t seem to care that Peter would be the one doing all the work, since he wasn’t the one starting a new job with a white shoe law firm in Manhattan. Peter didn’t mind, though. It was just what he wanted too.
Neal wrapped an arm around his waist and they contemplated the empty living room. “It seemed like so much more when we were packing.”
“I think it’s the lack of furniture.” Both of their apartments at the Concord had come furnished, and the only thing they brought with them was the television and bed from Peter’s place, which the movers had already set up.
“Shouldn’t take long to unpack.”
“Once we get some furniture.” Neal’s stomach rumbled and he clapped a hand over it.
“Wanna go get something to eat? Check out the neighborhood?”
“Sure, sounds good.”
Peter barely remembered to grab his keys – it was a novel sensation to have physical locks and a front door.
Neal looked vaguely lost – he patted his head and chuckled. “It feels so strange to be going out without cover.”
“Yeah.” He had to agree. Life after thirty-plus years in the Navy was going to be filled with plenty of habits to break.
The late afternoon was a little cool - Spring was still a few weeks away in New York. Back in DC, the cherry blossoms had come and gone already. Here, the leaves were just barely in bloom.
He locked up and joined Neal, who was waiting for him on the sidewalk. This stretch of DeKalb Avenue was mostly a residential neighborhood and apartment buildings shared walls with single family homes all along the block. The sidewalk was crowded, with parents with strollers and baby carriages and small children tagging along, older kids on skateboards, and quite a few senior citizens. It seemed like half of Brooklyn was out and enjoying the day.
They headed in the same direction as most of the foot traffic, walking shoulder to shoulder, almost as if they were on parade formation.
Neal bumped him - a little bit of a hipcheck. Peter looked at him, puzzled. Neal smiled and held out his hand.
He grinned back as he took it, weaving their fingers together. They walked that way for a few blocks, wordless, happy. A small boy, maybe three years old, came barreling at them, chasing a red ball. Neal stepped to one side and lifted their hands and the child ran beneath the arch they made. He got his ball and ran back to a frazzled young woman pushing an empty stroller.
“Jamie, what to do you say to these nice men?”
The little boy turned around and lisped “excuse me.” He smiled at them, waved and then ducked behind his mother, suddenly shy.
The woman smiled at them too as she passed, the little boy hugging his ball and clinging to her hand. “Have a good afternoon, gentlemen.”
They continued to walk hand in hand, perfectly at ease together in the April afternoon sunshine.
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