White Collar Fic - Privilege - Part II

[elrhiarhodan]

Title: Privilege
Author: elrhiarhodan
Rating: R (for language and OT3 sex, not graphic but descriptive)
Fandom: White Collar
Spoilers: 101, 113, 114
Summary: Fifteen Seconds Really Shouldn’t Make That Much Difference
Warnings/Triggers: Some legal stuff (and what else is new?)
Word Count: ~8000 (Sum of all parts)
Disclaimer: Nope, own nothing - but if I did, there would be a continuing storyline requiring either Peter or Neal (or both of them) to wear jackboots. The kind that the Queen’s Horse Guard wear.

A/N: I really wanted to find a reason why Peter Burke, so obviously brilliant – would occasionally be such a dork or so unsure of himself, particularly when it comes to interpersonal things. I thought, maybe – something from childhood, but I didn’t want to go down paths already trodden. I wanted to stay with something I know all about – sibling rivalry. I flashed on Allison Janney as Peter’s twin sister. IRL she’s a few years older than Tim DeKay, but the coloring and bone structure sort of match, and the roles she’s played are consistent with the personality of the character I’m trying to create.

This is set in the same universe as Minutes and Hours, Neal Caffrey, (Wage) Slave, and probably How Long Did You Did You Think You Could Keep This Up (Before I Found Out).   It's also the second entry on my "Five Things About Peter Burke" post.

The story takes place a year and some months after the Season 1 Finale.

Many, many thanks to the excellent beta work by the incomparable gyzym. Any mistakes are mine and mine alone.

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Neal tried to maintain some level of subtly as he watched the interplay between Peter and the Very Tall Woman Who Seemed Vaguely Familiar. He didn’t ask Jones or Diana if they knew who she was. He wasn’t precisely hurt that Peter had shut him out, but it did feel odd.

They had been living out of each other’s pockets for over a year now. At first, it was purely a survival instinct – Peter trying to protect him from Mentor and from himself (Neal’s thoughts squirmed away from this; the grief and anger were still a pair of small, dull knives scraping at his sanity). Slowly, through the spring and early summer, something began to change. Maybe it was the freedom from the tracker, maybe it was one too many glasses of wine or beer after the Memorial Day barbeque, maybe it was a wink from Elizabeth’s bright blue eyes, but suddenly inhibitions seemed to fall away. Neal wasn’t sure who ripped off his shirt, who pulled down his pants, or how Peter managed to strip off his own jeans and tee-shirt while helping Elizabeth out of her bra and panties (so maybe it was Elizabeth who stripped him), but all of a sudden they were all naked and devouring each other.

The summer seemed to pass by in a haze of lust and the thrill of risky behavior. Without the tracker, no one officially knew where Neal spent his nights (Peter and Neal both suspected that Mentor had surveillance on all of them at all times, but they couldn’t bring themselves to worry any more than they already did). Peter and Neal and Elizabeth fucked each other so often, so hard and in so many different ways that it was a miracle that any of them could walk upright in the mornings.

The rule, singular and unspoken, was that outside of the front door of the Burke’s Brooklyn row house or June’s Riverside Drive mansion, their behavior was beyond reproach. Partners – certainly. Friends – absolutely. Lovers – that was simply speculation for dirty minds. No intimate looks (beyond those that they normally exchanged in the pleasure of the work), no touching (except for the touches that had never before seemed out of place or inappropriate) – okay, so basically, no quickies in the men’s room or file room or against the solid wood door in Peter’s office, or any place where they could be discovered.

At work, Peter treated him like an equal, an occasionally annoying equal, but an equal none the less. Since then, Neal had worked very hard to be Neal Caffrey, semi-reformed con artist – charming, gracious, a pleasure to have around. And if every few hours, Neal found himself fantasizing about violence and retribution, he’d look for Peter and anchor himself with that calm, steady gaze.

But now, shut out of the conversation in the conference room, Neal worried a bit. It didn’t seem that Peter was trying to protect him from something – Peter’s body language suggested aggravation, exasperation and a familiarity with the Very Tall Woman. They weren’t conveniently facing outward, so he couldn’t read their lips (a handy talent he picked up years ago), and the glass walls and solid door of the conference room made for effective sound proofing. So, he covertly watched as the Very Tall Woman stalked around the conference room, as Peter scrubbed at his face and then threw up his hands in frustration. Neal found himself surprised that he was actually a little jealous – as if he was the only one who had the right to aggravate and exasperate Peter Burke.

All of a sudden, he realized that the conversation in the conference room had stopped, and the Very Tall Woman was staring at him. She must have said something to Peter because he called out for Neal to join them in the conference room.

He was grateful that Peter didn’t point and gesture, like Hughes and Rice the Tool Belt – it was always a bit humiliating to be summoned like a dog. Neal wanted to bound up the stairs, take them two at a time, but he forced himself to move at a measured pace – appropriate for one unsure of whether he was about to be reprimanded. He walked into the conference room, shut the door behind him and waited for Peter to make the introductions.

Peter actually got his mouth opened and started to speak, but the Very Tall Woman stopped him with a gesture. She held out her hand and introduced herself as “Isabelle,” and an older, gray-haired man (who Neal hadn’t noticed before) as Walter Hudson, her attorney. She didn’t bother to introduce the stenographer in the corner. Peter just sat there, silently watching the exchange, his face unreadable. Neal took note that Isabelle left off her last name deliberately, so he in turn introduced himself as “Mr. Caffrey.” That earned a very slight smile from Peter, and a startled chuckle from Isabelle.

“You’re right, Peter – he is smart. Quick too.” To Neal she said, “I guess fast thinking was an important skill in your former profession.”

The last comment was not really a question, and while he didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot with someone who may have a place in the game they played every day, Neal was getting annoyed. It was hard enough to keep the mask up these days without bossy strangers picking at his past.

“You’re not a lawyer, Mr. Caffrey, are you?” This really wasn’t a question either, but Neal wasn’t going to let this one pass without taking a swing.

“I may have done a semester or two at Columbia Law. Allegedly.”

“Not Harvard?” Very Tall Isabelle was no slouch in the rejoinder department either.

“Did some undergrad there. I got tired of Cambridge when Cardullo’s stopped stocking my favorite Italian roast.” Neal leaned back in his chair and gracefully swung his feet onto the table. He smirked and said nothing else.

Peter interrupted their banter, “Neal can keep this up all day if you want, Isabelle. You won’t best him quite so easily.”

Neal looked at Peter, who had gotten up to pour himself a glass of water. Neal was surprised at the odd power dynamics in the room, and that Peter seemed to be encouraging behavior that he usually slapped down.

Very Tall Isabelle sighed, “Okay – you’re right.” She turned to Neal. “Mr. Caffrey – since you allegedly have some experience in a law school classroom – you’ll know what I mean when I tell you that I’m giving you a ‘hypothetical’ to solve.”

Neal took his feet off the table and sat up, hands clasped in front of him like a model pupil on the first day of school. “Yes, ma’am.” This could actually be interesting.

“The situation is this. The chief legal officer for a major defense contractor discovers that her employer has been involved in criminal activity, but she is not sure if the illegal acts continue. She resigns her position, and goes to the FBI. The only information she can divulge is the existence of the past criminal activity, but not who committed the crimes, when the crimes occurred or even what those crimes were. In fact, it is so important that she NOT provide this information that she’s taken steps to establish an independently verifiable written record of the entire contact with the FBI. Can you tell me why?” The only sound in the conference room at this point was the soft whooshing of the paper flowing through the stenograph machine.

Neal looked at Peter, who shrugged and shook his head – no help there. Isabelle was clearly talking about herself. It wasn’t surprising the she was a lawyer – she certainly had the personality of a land shark. Neal rolled a few possibilities around, discarded them, picked up other threads. The whole lawyer thing seemed very central to Isabelle’s hypothetical – that was the place to start.

It didn’t feel like a light going on in his head, or like when he looked at a cold case file and solved the crime, or when he and Peter went back and forth over a problem and got to that ‘a-ha’ moment. This time, the answer slipped out of some hidden place – almost too perfect in its simplicity.

“Attorney – client privilege. You can’t say anything specific, because the company is your client. You’re also bound by the code of professional responsibility.” Neal didn’t look at Isabelle, but at Peter. He was rewarded for his cleverness with one of those lovely half-rueful smiles. For a heartbeat, it was just the two of them. The moment was broken by slow, mocking clapping.

“You are now officially the smartest man in the room. No offense, Walter.” She completely ignored Peter.

“None taken, Isabelle.” The first and only words the man had spoken so far.

Peter said “That’s not quite the compliment you think it is, Neal. Notice, she said ‘smartest man’ not ‘smartest person.’ Isabelle clearly believes that title belongs to her.” Peter took a sip of water.

Feeling a bit like a trained seal that just performed well on the horns, Neal thought he was entitled to a bit more information. He turned to Isabelle and asked “Have we met before? You look very familiar.”

Neal would later swear that Peter did a spit-take, and both Very Tall and her lawyer burst out laughing. Peter recovered first, and Neal was relieved to finally see some humor in his eyes. “Someone want to let me in on the joke?”

“Let me introduce you properly. This is Isabelle Burke, my sister. My twin sister.”

Peter’s sister stuck out her hand again. “Can I call you Neal now?”

“Only if I can call you Ms. Burke.”

The laughter was more comfortable now, and Neal felt less like the butt and more like a part of the joke. “But I have a few questions.” He looked at Peter and Isabelle – they were standing side by side. The resemblance was there, but not very remarkable.

Isabelle was quick to reply, “I’m fifteen seconds older.”

“That wasn’t what I was going to ask.” It was obvious to Neal that the relationship between brother and sister was a difficult one, not how he would imagine between fraternal twins. This woman was not quite a Bizarro version of Peter, but she wasn’t the same as Peter either – which was, at the end of all things, a relief.

“Actually, my question was about your ‘hypothetical’.” Neal caught Peter’s eye again, and it felt like they were working a case. He could see the same line of questions forming there. “Isn’t there is some leeway in the ethics code, particularly when it comes to the discovery of a crime?”

Walter the Gray actually had something to contribute at this question. “No, Mr. Caffrey. The Code of Professional Responsibility actually only allows an attorney to divulge information about a crime yet to be committed, not one that already has been committed if she learned of the crime during the course of representation. And attorney-client privilege is absolute with regard to prior illegal acts. Since my client has learned of the details of the prior malfeasance solely due to her representation of her client, she cannot give any information about what she actually knows. I only know a bit more than you, all in the framework of a hypothetical. Isabelle’s walking a very fine line by making any statements about her client’s activities.”

Peter interrupted, but Neal also picked up on the qualification Walter had made. “Wait – you said ‘the details of the malfeasance.’ Are you saying that the actual crime itself could be discovered by someone other than the company’s general counsel?”

Neal added, “That’s your loophole, Isabelle. Isn’t it?”

Neither attorney replied, but Isabelle gestured slightly to the stenographer in the corner, who was still transcribing the conversation. “I can’t say any more – do you have enough to get started?”

Neal looked at Peter. Peter just smiled – that shark-toothed grin, and said nothing.

Neal was a bit surprised when Peter asked his Isabelle about her flight home – that night. Didn’t she want to spend some time with her brother? His expression must have been a bit too transparent, because Isabelle explained, “I need to establish an unequivocal record of this meeting – from start to finish. I have to get onto a plane back to San Francisco tonight. Walter will sign an affidavit attesting to the duration of my visit and that at no time did I have any unrecorded conversations with the FBI or that I provided any documents of any kind to the FBI. This way, any case that may develop is not be tainted by a breach of attorney-client privilege.”

Walter added, perhaps unnecessarily, “So no subsequent investigation is tossed as fruit of the poisonous tree.”

Isabelle picked up her bag and turned to Neal. He held out his hand and she grabbed him into a surprisingly strong hug. “Good to meet you Mr. Caffrey.” She then whispered in his ear, “Ask Peter to tell you about Uncle Edgar.” He felt her slide something into his jacket pocket – she was good, but Neal was better.

Neal watched as sister and brother struggled with an awkward goodbye.

“Take care, Peter-face.” Neal’s eyes widened at the nickname.

“You too, Is-a-belly.” The siblings seemed to jockey for position and finally Peter hugged his sister close. Then he released her with a shocked expression on his face. Neal said nothing, understanding the need for discretion.

They stood on the balcony, watching the two attorneys leave the office and get on the elevator. They waited while the stenographer packed up her equipment and left.

Peter finally turned to Neal, all humor, affection, exasperation and frustration erased by the fierce look of an agent on a case, a worried brother. “Neal, she’s wearing a bullet proof vest.”

Go to Part III

Comments

[ursula4x.livejournal.com]

This is one of those wonderful stories that I hate to read too quickly. I don't want it to end, but then I do to see what the end is.

[emeraldfaith.livejournal.com]

About that master list of fiction you were talking about in another wonderful story linked to this story, have you posted it somewhere. I think I have gone through at least two verses. Beautiful wonderfully written story verses that I would love to read more of.

[canaana.livejournal.com]

I didn't want to like Isabelle, but I find that I do. Nice writing. (And Peter really is a little slow on the uptake when she's around, isn't he?)