White Collar Fic - We Shall Come Home - Chapter XI

[elrhiarhodan]

Title: We Shall Come Home - Chapter XI
Author: elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Pairing/Characters: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke, Reese Hughes, Diana Berrigan, Clinton Jones, Mozzie, Satchmo, plus other characters.
Rating: R
Spoilers: None
Word Count: ~ 3300 (this chapter) ~61,000 (total)
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Summary: Transformed beyond recognition, beyond comprehension, Peter and Neal are lost in the woods and desperately try to get home. A tale of friendship, sacrifice, loss and ultimately, of love. Disaster strikes again. Home is on the horizon, but not for one of them.

We Shall Come Home is not a work in progress. New chapters will be posted once a week, on Tuesdays.
Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III | Chapter IV | Chapter V | Chapter VI | Chapter VII | Chapter VIII | Chapter IX | Chapter X |

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CHAPTER XI – LATE SUNDAY AFTERNOON

EDUARDO WAS TORN BETWEEN HIS ENJOYMENT OF HIS TWO NEW “FRIENDS” and the grief over what he suspected was the final breach with his sister. He found himself talking to the dogs about Connie, what it was like growing up without a mother, what it was like raising Connie. Where he went wrong, what he did right. He knew the beasts didn’t understand, but pouring out everything felt good – sort of like confession without worrying about penance.

He hoped that no one would claim the dogs – he really wanted to keep them. If there ever was a benefit to being a business owner, it was having the right to set the rules. He’d keep George and Lennie with him all day – take them into the office, out to see clients. They were clearly trained and obedient, and if George was the more dominant of the two, he was okay with that – so long as he understood that he, Eduardo, was the master and needed to be obeyed.

The ride back through New York was easy until they got to Nyack and the approach to the bridge. George started to get agitated and he thought that it would probably be a good idea to let them out for a chance to do their business. He found a parking lot behind an abandoned building and just as he opened the door and let them out, he cursed himself. They could take off and then where would he be, chasing two dogs that he didn’t own, that didn’t have collars or tags – dogs whose real names he didn't’ know.

To his surprise and relief, George and Lennie did their business and started to play. At least George did; Lennie just sat on the ground and scratched himself. George sat on top of the gray dog, who just lay there, panting and smiling – too stupid to realize that his friend wanted to play.

The traffic along the Tappan Zee was insane, but he didn’t mind. The day was lovely, the company was good and there was really no other place he wanted to be. The road emptied out after Tarrytown and it was pretty clear driving until Yonkers. That was expected – but he noticed that George was behaving a bit strangely. He seemed confused – looking out the window, then back at Lennie, licking at the other dog. When he wasn’t fussing or fidgeting, he just panted with his mouth wide open.

“Hey, George, you okay?” He didn’t expect him to answer, but the big brown beast didn’t even turn to look at him. He whimpered and rested against his friend.

“What’s the matter, boy? You’re not feeling too good?” Eduardo suddenly worried that maybe the meat he’d fed him was bad. “You’re going to be sick, George?”

They were on the Major Deegan Expressway and there was too much traffic to pull over, and even though the dogs hadn’t run off when he let them out before, something told him it wouldn’t be a good idea to let them out now. Besides, this was an old, beat up utility truck, and it had seen far worse than dog spew.

“We’ll be home soon.” At the word home, George finally looked at him. There was something pathetically eager in his eyes. “You want to go to Brooklyn, right? You want to go home?”

George panted and whined in response.

“We’ll be in Brooklyn soon – but it’s a big place. I’m gonna have to keep you close until we can find where you belong. And if you don’t belong to anyone, I’m going to keep the two of you with me. Are you cool with that?”

George barked at him – and it was not a happy sound. Eduardo worried some more and cursed the traffic.

It took another hour to get through the Bronx. The Yankees had just finished a home game and no matter what road he took, it was more stop than go. By the time he cleared that congestion, the Queens-bound traffic was building for the start of a Mets game. It was one of the rare Sundays when the two teams had back-to-back home stands. George was getting more and more agitated and there was still no place for him to stop and let the dog out, especially not without a leash. At least Lennie was quiet. He had vacated his window-side position and was draped across the bench seat, lightly panting and seemingly oblivious to his friend’s distress.

George kept shifting around in the limited space of the passenger-side foot well, sometimes resting his head on top of Lennie, sometimes trying to stand over him. The poor dog was uncomfortable and Eduardo wanted to give Lennie a bit of a smack for being so selfish, so oblivious to his friend’s distress. But when he reached down to give the big gray dog a small shove, George actually growled at him. Eduardo flattened his hand and held it palm out as a gesture of peace, but George wouldn’t lick it. That was too submissive an act for him – although he did touch it with his muzzle before looking away with a small sniff.

Okay, so George and Lennie were definitely like their namesakes, very protective of each other. That gave Eduardo pause – he wanted them as part of his family, provided that no one claimed them. But if they were so devoted to each other, would they extend their devotion to him? He laughed at his own thoughts – he’d only met the pair a few hours ago, and they were dogs, not people. What was he doing building pipe dreams around a pair of overgrown strays? This must be just an overreaction to his confrontation with Connie.

The BQE was far too busy for a Sunday afternoon, but thankfully most of the traffic was Queens-bound, and Eduardo was able to get off at the Fort Greene exit. “We’re almost there, boys.” The old truck rattled on the heavily grooved pavement. Despite the renaissance throughout Brooklyn over the past decade, the roads were still a mess. As Eduardo made a sharp turn onto Willoughby Street, he bottomed out in a huge pothole and the truck came to a juddering halt.

“Shit – you two okay?” Lennie had slid partly off the seat, and George was draped over him, but they seemed unhurt.

“Wait here, don’t move.” Jesús Cristo, he was talking to them like they were people. He held out a hand, pointed in a useless gesture and commanded “Sit, stay.” That’s better.

Eduardo got out of the truck and surveyed the damage, leaving the driver’s side door ajar. As he walked around the truck, he didn’t notice that Lennie had gotten up and stuck his nose out. A nose that was followed by a head, front paws, back legs and a tail.


THINGS SMELLED FAMILIAR, YET NOT EXACTLY AS THEY SHOULD. Things looked familiar too, but not quite. He wanted to get out of this thing that moved so quickly. It was good but not good. Peter was not happy, but he wasn’t unhappy. Everything was not right, but it could be okay. Neal wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t feel quite right – if he knew what right was supposed to feel like.

When the thing they were in bounced around and stopped, the other dog got out. He did something with his strange paws, but Neal didn’t know what he meant. So he got out too. This was a different place again. It wasn’t like the strange forest they crossed through at night, although there was green here – a forest was nearby. But there were other things too: the smell of other dogs like the new pack mate, and the smell of dogs that were like him but definitely weren’t pack. Those dogs had put their marks all over the place and that made him almost weak with anger. He wanted to bark, he wanted to bite, he wanted to make sure that none of them came between him and Peter.

Neal walked around the thing and saw that there were lots of other things like this – they were moving fast and he was careful to keep out of their way. The new pack mate was kneeling down, on the ground – and that was good. His head shouldn’t be higher than his, shouldn’t be higher than Peter’s. He walked away, leaving the thing and this unwanted pack mate behind.

Much to his delight, Peter followed him out of the thing. With immense pleasure, he greeted Peter, licking at his mouth and jaw. Peter did what he always did in greeting. He nipped him. First his ear, then his shoulder. The bites didn’t hurt, and they made him remember that Peter was his leader.

They sat together on the sun-warmed ground, and Neal waited for Peter to start moving. But Peter was seemingly content to stay where they were. They watched the things go by, and Neal couldn’t be happier when Peter rested his head on Neal’s back.

Then he spotted another dog. It was across the road, heading into the forest. That dog made him angry – he didn’t belong there. The forest was his, his and Peter’s. He looked at Peter, who didn’t seem to see the other dog. Even so, Neal knew that he had to defend his home, his pack.

Something within him was screaming not to run after this other dog. There was a small, hidden voice – it confused Neal. The voice wasn’t pack and it wasn’t not-pack – it was a part of him that shouldn’t be there any longer. He didn’t want to listen to it, just like he didn’t want to listen to the strange pack mate. The only one he should listen to was Peter, right?

Still, he did the one thing that the voice inside him told him NOT TO DO. He ran. He ignored Peter's command, he ignored his other packmate's orders. Neal ran.

He ran after that other dog, that not-pack dog. He ran and ran and found the forest – which wasn’t a forest at all. There were lots of other dogs. None of these were pack. He didn’t understand. They were all tied somehow to others like their new pack mate. That made him nervous. Maybe he shouldn’t be here?

Neal backed off – it was time to go back to Peter. Then a small dog, no bigger than his head, rushed up to him and started barking. Neal wasn’t cowed, not precisely, and it wasn’t until the small thing showed its teeth that Neal got … upset. The other dog pressed its advantage and jumped up at him, and Neal bolted. He wasn’t afraid – he could have killed that little beast with a swipe of his paw, but that seemed wrong. He was the one that was in a place he wasn’t supposed to be.

There were other dogs – little ones, bigger ones, though none bigger than he was – but they were all barking at him – and finally, at this last moment, after everything, Neal was frightened. He wanted Peter. He needed Peter. He ran for the tree line, and then past it, up and down slopes, across grass and concrete. There was a barrier, but he found his way out, past the fast moving things, across the hard ground and back to a forest. When he found a small den, something no bigger than the thing that had brought him here, he took refuge. Peter would find him, Peter would keep him safe, Peter would protect him.

Neal whimpered and shivered in the semi-darkness, waiting. Peter never came.



WHEN THE TRUCK BOTTOMED OUT AND STOPPED, PETER WAS MOMENTARILY DISORIENTED. He was thrown against the floor of the truck and his whole body hurt. The man told him to stay and that sort of seemed okay. He really didn’t want to go anywhere.

But Neal, he had to create problems. Somehow, that seemed normal; it felt like a familiar pattern. He followed him out onto the street and they walked away from the man and the truck. Peter looked around. This world was different from the forest, but it was full of familiar noises and intensely unfamiliar smells. There were signs of other dogs all over the place, which made him agitated. Despite his lethargy, he wanted to run out and cover all those marks with his own scent.

He gave Neal the customary nip on his ear and shoulder after Neal licked him. He settled down to watch the dog – his friend, who seemed to be very agitated.

Then Peter noticed an odd thing. Lying out here, on the warm pavement and away from the truck, the confusion and the feeling of loss were dissipating. With each heartbeat, the essence of himself, of the human called Peter Burke, seemed to return, as did a lot of his memories. Peter wondered at this for a moment or two and decided that would be a problem he could solve another time. He started to think hard about everything that had happened.

He remembered the intimacy that had grown between him and Neal these past few days. He wondered how they would be able to go back to being simply friends and partners. He couldn’t fool himself into thinking that, once they were back to human form (and he wasn’t going to let himself consider the idea that they would remain dogs forever), their relationship could remain the same. For Neal’s sacrifice alone, he was going to have to face what he felt. The thing was, he didn’t fully understand it. Neal was his friend, that was a given – and he could no longer imagine a life without him in it. He was as essential to him as Elizabeth.

At that, Peter paused. The name, the relationship, her face – everything, every memory, every feeling that had disappeared during their journey through the forest, and then in the ride back, came flooding back to him. Something tore at him – the need to get home, to get to Elizabeth. She must be so worried about him.

He stood up. The arrow was back, he knew how to get home. And just at that moment, Neal took off after another dog. Peter didn’t even get a chance to bark, to try to get Neal to stop before he disappeared down the block and into the park.

Never in his life had he felt so conflicted. He wanted to get home. He was so close – but Neal, Neal had to come with him. He couldn’t leave Neal behind, lost and alone.

Peter dithered for a few moments, and took off after Neal. No matter how urgently he wanted to get home, he wouldn’t, he couldn’t leave Neal behind. The man looked up from the truck and shouted for him to stay, and Peter had no problem ignoring him. By the time he got into the park, Neal had disappeared, and Peter couldn’t find his scent among the hundreds of other dogs that were in the park or had recently been there.

A small dog, a stupid little poodle that was groomed like a stupid stuffed animal, came running up to Peter, barking and yipping and jumping like she was on springs. It wasn’t hard to tell that this thing thought she owned the park. But no matter how dominant the poodle’s behavior was, she was still ridiculous. Peter leaned in close. The thing was yapping like no one’s business, snarling too. Peter growled low in his throat and let his lip curl up. His teeth were bigger than the poodle’s eyes.

The little dog didn’t quite back down – she stopped snarling and jumping at him, but she was still yapping and was still in his way. Peter barked, deep in his throat, once. Just once. The poodle stopped her antics and Peter looked her in the eyes. The silly little thing broke first, gave a small yip and ran off, her ridiculous tail, shaved except for a pom-pom at the tip, tucked between her legs.

Now to find Neal and take him home.



ELIZABETH DIDN’T REALLY KNOW WHAT TO THINK ABOUT MOZZIE’S SUGGESTION THAT NEAL and Peter had been transformed into dogs. Yes, as a theory it did make sense – except that human beings weren’t just magically changed into dogs. She wandered out onto her patio and sat down with a cup of tea, leaving Moz inside to … do whatever he needed to do.

She needed to think, and the more she thought about Moz’s theory, the more she started to believe it.

There was something she hadn’t told Mozzie. She hadn’t told him about her dreams, the ones she’d been having every night since Peter disappeared. The ones where someone was running through a forest, where there was sunlight and shadow – and always a sense of two minds, two people in the dream: the eyes she was seeing through, and another thing, right behind.

She thought, if Peter and Neal were dogs, maybe what she was seeing was them running. Or maybe just Peter running, with Neal behind him. It was crazy – crazier than her husband and his best friend being turned into dogs.

She sighed. A raven – or was it a crow – was perched on the utility pole in the back corner of the yard. The bird’s cry was loud, abrasive, angry. There was an answering cry from another crow that had settled on the roof. The two birds carried on, back and forth, screaming and cackling until Elizabeth thought she’d lose what was left of her sanity.

When Moz joined her, he waved his hand in the direction of the birds and they flew off.

“What are you thinking?” Moz interrupted the blessed silence.

Putting down the teacup with a distinct clink, she looked at him, a touch of annoyance in her eyes and in her voice. “What do you think I’m thinking about?”

“Ah.”

Elizabeth went on the offensive. “What, no obscure quote, no pithy comment? Come on, Mozzie. You drop this crazy theory in my lap, and then all you have to say is ‘ah’?” She immediately felt bad for attacking him, but she was so angry.

“El – I really don’t have anything else to say. Except that if I stop believing that Neal is going to come home, I somehow think he won’t.”

She stared at him.

Moz licked his lips. “Whether they are dogs or men, they are lost out there, somewhere. I don’t think I can find them – I don’t think anyone can find them. But I have to believe that they are alive and trying to get home to us. Faith in that is all I have.”

“I didn’t think you were a believer, Moz.” Her tone gentled.

“In god, in religion – no. But I believe in Neal – and yes, in Peter too. I believe that they’re alive and trying to get back to us. I can’t explain it. There is no logical basis for this belief. It’s more than hope, it’s more than a ward against despair. It’s something I see when I close my eyes in the dark, I see them out there, frightened, perhaps. And they only have our belief, our faith to keep them going.”

Moz laughed, a sour and self-loathing sound. “I’m crazy. I know that. I’m a strange and paranoid little man who’s so terrified of losing the one person that really matters to him that he’s making up fairy stories to justify his hopes.” He tried to stifle a sob at the last word, and El felt an answering ache rise in the back of her throat.

At that moment, she really didn’t care that Moz was uncomfortable with human touch. She wrapped her arms around him. He stiffened, and for an instant she thought he was going to break free of her hold. Instead, he just collapsed against her, shaking silently. Her own tears poured out, hot and endless, staining Mozzie’s back like blood from a knife wound.

To Be Continued