Fic: "Beyond the Sea" 5/5 + Epilogue
Title: Beyond the Sea
Fandom: White Collar
Characters/Pairing: Neal, Peter, Neal/OFC, past Neal/Kate
Rating: Teen
Contains: Amnesia. Medical trauma.
Word count: 27,000
Summary: Pre-series. Neal Caffrey is happily eluding the Feds when a sailing accident robs him of his memories and, consequently, his identity. As he recovers, he takes takes refuge in his new girlfriend, who helps him rediscover his identity as Steve Tabernackle, jet-setting millionaire. But when Steve returns to New York, it doesn't take long for his past to catch up with him.
Notes: Written for whitecollar_bb. This fic is an AU taking place around the time of Neal's arrest in "Forging Bonds."
"So," Morales said, "you're ready to rethink my offer?"
Neal sat across from her at the same table they'd sat at before. Griffin was sitting beside him, barely managing to conceal his disapproval.
It'd taken a few days to get a meeting with the assistant U.S. attorney, and Griffin had urged him to reconsider the entire time. But ultimately, it was Neal's decision.
"My client can't take your offer," Griffin said. "He can't, in good conscience, plead guilty to crimes that he doesn't remember committing. However, he would be willing to plead no contest to three counts of fraud and the possession of fake passports."
Morales raised her eyebrows. "This is your sticking point? Pleading no contest instead of guilty?"
Neal had been doing his research. If he pled no contest, his plea could not be used to establish his guilt in civil court. It wouldn't guarantee that Atlantic Partners wouldn't sue him, but it would help his case a little.
"That's my condition," Neal said. "Second, I need an assurance that you'll request leniency in sentencing. I also want to serve my sentence in a low or minimum security federal prison. I need to be in an environment that won't impede my recovery."
"We could request leniency, but I can't control where you serve your sentence. That will be determined by the presentencing report. Also, you're really not in a position to issue demands."
Neal smiled. "You want this conviction, don't you? The FBI's been chasing me for what, three years? I'm sure my condition has complicated things, and I think it's best for all of us if we resolve this quickly, rather than waiting six months to begin a lengthy trial. You already offered to let me plead guilty to a reduced number of charges. I'm simply asking for a couple small alterations."
Morales studied Neal with piercing brown eyes. Clicking her tongue, she said, "Well, I can't make any promises right now, but I'll let you know within a few days if we're willing to proceed."
Neal stood and held out his hand for her to shake. "I look forward to hearing your decision."
As they left, Griffin said, "I hope you know what you're doing"
"I need to end this. One way or another."
"Well," Griffin said with a shrug, "it's your life."
It was. And Neal had to live with it.
* * *
Peter had the house to himself. El was at an event, so it was just him, Satchmo, and leftovers.
He'd just settled in front of the TV with a can of beer and a greasy slice pepperoni pizza when his cell phone rang.
Cursing under his breath, he set his plate and can on the coffee table, muted the TV, and picked up his ringing, vibrating phone.
"This is Burke."
"Agent Burke. It's me-Neal Caffrey."
Peter felt his eyes widen. "What? Why are you calling me?"
He was surprised Neal had even found his number. It wasn't the first time he'd called his cell phone, but unless Neal's amnesia was cured, Peter doubted he'd been able to remember the number.
Instead of answering his question, Neal said, "You probably know I took a plea deal today."
"Oh, I heard," Peter said dryly.
Angela Morales had come to his office to tell him in person. They'd let Neal plead no contest to a few charges, and the U.S. attorney's office was recommending leniency.
Morales had anticipated his cynicism. "It's for the best," she'd said. "This case has been a mess. It's better to let him plead out."
She was right, of course. Peter was no stranger to how the system worked. A lot of the people he caught took plea deals. But Neal Caffrey was different. Peter had always expected a fight with him, and was a little disappointed not to get one. He used to imagine himself testifying at Neal's trial.
"You shouldn't be calling me," Peter said.
"Why not? The case is over now, right? My sentencing is in a few weeks."
"They let you go home until then?"
"Yeah. Still on the anklet, of course."
"Neal...please tell me you're not just calling to chat."
There was a small pause on the other end. "I'm going to prison. The prosecution requested leniency, but I'm definitely going away for at least a couple years. Before that happens, I want to learn more about who I was."
Peter scoffed. "So you're calling me."
"You're the expert, right? Chased me for three years?
"Well, yeah, but...it's not like we knew each other."
"Exactly. I need to talk to someone who'll tell me the truth."
Peter had to smile at that. "You think I'm unbiased?"
"I think of anyone, you can give me the most objective point of view. You already caught me-you don't have any stake in how I remember things now."
Peter hesitated. This still seemed irregular to him, and he didn't trust Neal's motivations.
"Please," Neal said. "I just need to know."
Peter leaned against one of the sofa arms and put his feet up. "All right, fine. When your forged bonds landed on my desk, the quality stood out to me."
"The quality, huh?"
He could practically hear Neal smiling.
"Don't get cocky. That's partly how you got into this mess in the first place."
"How much did you know about me and Kate?"
"We knew you two were together. We had some information on her. Don't know how you met, though." It was hard to get used to the idea that this was all new to Neal. "You broke up about a year ago, we think. We started seeing more evidence of you traveling alone, and we had surveillance on Kate but never saw signs of you contacting her."
Neal was silent for a moment, apparently taking that in. "Did we ever meet? Before you arrested me?"
"Only once. I was at a bank where they'd found one of your bonds...."
The other side was silent save for Neal's soft breathing as he listened to the story.
Epilogue
Neal hadn't expected to like anything about prison, but he liked working in the kitchen. It gave him focus.
It was a good job, too. Even in a low security prison, there was something prestigious about being allowed to work with knives.
His bunkmate was trying to get him to use his job to influence the prison's cuisine. Mike was a wannabe fitness guru who spent most of his free time working on a book he planned to publish when he was released next year. It was going to be called The Club Fed Diet and was going to be about getting fit and eating well in prison. He wanted Neal to push for healthier cafeteria options, but Neal didn't have much pull there.
But he could make the best food he could, and Neal took pride in that. When he'd first come to prison, he'd been excused from work at first while they evaluated his condition. But now that he was strong enough to stand for hours on end, he found he vastly preferred to keep busy.
Right now, he was cooking a large pot of spaghetti. Spaghetti was one of the first recipes he'd learned to make when he was young, and he used to cook it for himself a lot when he was in his teens.
Neal froze. A lump formed in his throat. He could remember cooking at home when he was fifteen or sixteen. His mother was working a night shift then, and he made them dinner almost every night.
It wasn't the first memory to return, but it was one of the latest ones. Every time another puzzle piece fell into place, he felt like he might cry with joy.
He hadn't told anyone he was regaining his memory. He wasn't sure if he would. He still liked the idea of getting a fresh start, and that seemed simpler if he had amnesia.
"Hey, Caffrey."
It was the voice of Hanson, one of the guards. Neal looked over his shoulder, expecting to be asked why he'd stopped working.
"Someone else can take care of that. There's someone here to see you."
One of his coworkers was already coming over to take his place, and Neal took off his apron robotically. It was only when he was following Hanson out of the kitchen, and pulling off his hairnet, that something occurred to him.
"Today isn't a visiting day." Worry started to fill him.
"It's not a regular visitor," Hanson explained. "A federal agent's here to see you."
"Did they say why?"
"Nope."
Neal's dread only increased. He'd thought the Feds were satisfied with his conviction.
Instead of taking him to the usual visiting room, Hanson led Neal to the legal visit room. Neal had never been there before, but he recognized the man sitting at the table.
"Agent Burke. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Peter nodded at Hanson, and Hanson left them, closing the door behind him. Neal sat down across from Peter.
"I thought I'd check in on you," Peter said, sounding almost sheepish.
Neal raised an eyebrow. "You used your privilege as a federal agent to visit an inmate just because you wanted to say hi?"
"You have a problem with that?"
Neal shrugged. "Nope. No complaints here. Do you visit everyone you put away, or am I special?"
Peter dodged the question, asking instead, "How are you holding up?"
"Could be worse. I have a job in the kitchen. And my bunkmate's made me take up running."
Peter frowned. "Wait, made you?"
"Oh, it's just some fitness program. I agreed to be his guinea pig. I think it's been good for me, though. And I'm working on my GED."
Peter beamed. "Really? That's great."
"It gives me something to do."
"What about Annabelle? You hear from her at all?"
"We've written a few times. I don't know if we'll keep in touch, but it's nice to get the letters. Kate came to visit a couple months ago."
Mozzie hadn't visited at all, which hurt a little. But Neal got the sense that that was just how Mozzie was. And Mozzie put money in his commissary account every month, which was a nice compensation.
"You're doing okay, then?" Peter asked.
Neal started to lie, but realized that this might be the only conversation he would ever have where he could be honest. "It's still hard to accept. I don't see how I'm supposed to accept blame for something I don't remember."
"Even if you remembered, I don't think I'd expect you to take responsibility."
"No, I get the impression I wasn't the type of guy who would."
"I'm sure it's not easy to give up being Steve Tabernackle."
"I don't know," Neal said, shaking his head. "Sometimes I'm glad to be away from all of that. One thing I can say for prison, you get plenty of time to clear your head."
"And you'll get out in what, eighteen months now?"
"Fifteen with my good time credit."
Thanks to the request for leniency, and the reduced number of charges, he'd gotten a sentence of two and a half years. He knew he didn't have anything to complain about.
"That'll be good."
"Yeah, I guess. I don't think there are a lot of opportunities for ex-cons with amnesia."
Between the restitution he'd had to pay, his medical bills, and the taxes and penalties, the money in his Steve Tabernackle account was long gone. Right now, he wasn't optimistic about his future.
There was still the promise of hidden treasures, but Neal hadn't decided what he was going to do. Even if he wanted to risk going back to prison by selling the stolen items, he wasn't positive he'd ever find his alleged stashes. He doubted, somehow, that Mozzie truly knew where most of it was.
"Don't be too hard on yourself," Peter said. "You're smart, you'll figure something out."
Neal wondered if Peter was here partly out of guilt, or a desire to reassure himself that Neal was all right. It couldn't be very fun to send an amnesiac to prison.
"Any luck with your memory?" Peter asked.
"I don't know...It's still hard to say. There might be some improvement."
"Well, maybe you could work as an appraiser or security expert."
Neal raised his eyebrows. "Or consult for the FBI?"
Peter blinked, and then chuckled. "Maybe. Who knows?"
"If I ever remember what I used to know about forgeries, I'll give you a call."
"I'm sure you will."
Sitting back, Neal smiled and said, "You must be bored if you're coming here to chat with me. Don't have any interesting cases?"
"Actually," Peter said with a sly smile, "I'll have you know that I do. A forger. Maybe as good as you were."
"Well, that wouldn't mean anything to me, but I'll take it as a compliment. What's the guy's name?"
"We're calling him the Dutchman."
"Sounds mysterious. Can you tell me about him?"
"I can tell you a few things, if you have time."
"Are you kidding?" Neal said with a laugh. "I have fifteen months."
Resting his elbows on the table, he leaned in to listen.
This entry was originally posted at http://citrinesunset.dreamwidth.org/127801.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Fandom: White Collar
Characters/Pairing: Neal, Peter, Neal/OFC, past Neal/Kate
Rating: Teen
Contains: Amnesia. Medical trauma.
Word count: 27,000
Summary: Pre-series. Neal Caffrey is happily eluding the Feds when a sailing accident robs him of his memories and, consequently, his identity. As he recovers, he takes takes refuge in his new girlfriend, who helps him rediscover his identity as Steve Tabernackle, jet-setting millionaire. But when Steve returns to New York, it doesn't take long for his past to catch up with him.
Notes: Written for whitecollar_bb. This fic is an AU taking place around the time of Neal's arrest in "Forging Bonds."
"So," Morales said, "you're ready to rethink my offer?"
Neal sat across from her at the same table they'd sat at before. Griffin was sitting beside him, barely managing to conceal his disapproval.
It'd taken a few days to get a meeting with the assistant U.S. attorney, and Griffin had urged him to reconsider the entire time. But ultimately, it was Neal's decision.
"My client can't take your offer," Griffin said. "He can't, in good conscience, plead guilty to crimes that he doesn't remember committing. However, he would be willing to plead no contest to three counts of fraud and the possession of fake passports."
Morales raised her eyebrows. "This is your sticking point? Pleading no contest instead of guilty?"
Neal had been doing his research. If he pled no contest, his plea could not be used to establish his guilt in civil court. It wouldn't guarantee that Atlantic Partners wouldn't sue him, but it would help his case a little.
"That's my condition," Neal said. "Second, I need an assurance that you'll request leniency in sentencing. I also want to serve my sentence in a low or minimum security federal prison. I need to be in an environment that won't impede my recovery."
"We could request leniency, but I can't control where you serve your sentence. That will be determined by the presentencing report. Also, you're really not in a position to issue demands."
Neal smiled. "You want this conviction, don't you? The FBI's been chasing me for what, three years? I'm sure my condition has complicated things, and I think it's best for all of us if we resolve this quickly, rather than waiting six months to begin a lengthy trial. You already offered to let me plead guilty to a reduced number of charges. I'm simply asking for a couple small alterations."
Morales studied Neal with piercing brown eyes. Clicking her tongue, she said, "Well, I can't make any promises right now, but I'll let you know within a few days if we're willing to proceed."
Neal stood and held out his hand for her to shake. "I look forward to hearing your decision."
As they left, Griffin said, "I hope you know what you're doing"
"I need to end this. One way or another."
"Well," Griffin said with a shrug, "it's your life."
It was. And Neal had to live with it.
* * *
Peter had the house to himself. El was at an event, so it was just him, Satchmo, and leftovers.
He'd just settled in front of the TV with a can of beer and a greasy slice pepperoni pizza when his cell phone rang.
Cursing under his breath, he set his plate and can on the coffee table, muted the TV, and picked up his ringing, vibrating phone.
"This is Burke."
"Agent Burke. It's me-Neal Caffrey."
Peter felt his eyes widen. "What? Why are you calling me?"
He was surprised Neal had even found his number. It wasn't the first time he'd called his cell phone, but unless Neal's amnesia was cured, Peter doubted he'd been able to remember the number.
Instead of answering his question, Neal said, "You probably know I took a plea deal today."
"Oh, I heard," Peter said dryly.
Angela Morales had come to his office to tell him in person. They'd let Neal plead no contest to a few charges, and the U.S. attorney's office was recommending leniency.
Morales had anticipated his cynicism. "It's for the best," she'd said. "This case has been a mess. It's better to let him plead out."
She was right, of course. Peter was no stranger to how the system worked. A lot of the people he caught took plea deals. But Neal Caffrey was different. Peter had always expected a fight with him, and was a little disappointed not to get one. He used to imagine himself testifying at Neal's trial.
"You shouldn't be calling me," Peter said.
"Why not? The case is over now, right? My sentencing is in a few weeks."
"They let you go home until then?"
"Yeah. Still on the anklet, of course."
"Neal...please tell me you're not just calling to chat."
There was a small pause on the other end. "I'm going to prison. The prosecution requested leniency, but I'm definitely going away for at least a couple years. Before that happens, I want to learn more about who I was."
Peter scoffed. "So you're calling me."
"You're the expert, right? Chased me for three years?
"Well, yeah, but...it's not like we knew each other."
"Exactly. I need to talk to someone who'll tell me the truth."
Peter had to smile at that. "You think I'm unbiased?"
"I think of anyone, you can give me the most objective point of view. You already caught me-you don't have any stake in how I remember things now."
Peter hesitated. This still seemed irregular to him, and he didn't trust Neal's motivations.
"Please," Neal said. "I just need to know."
Peter leaned against one of the sofa arms and put his feet up. "All right, fine. When your forged bonds landed on my desk, the quality stood out to me."
"The quality, huh?"
He could practically hear Neal smiling.
"Don't get cocky. That's partly how you got into this mess in the first place."
"How much did you know about me and Kate?"
"We knew you two were together. We had some information on her. Don't know how you met, though." It was hard to get used to the idea that this was all new to Neal. "You broke up about a year ago, we think. We started seeing more evidence of you traveling alone, and we had surveillance on Kate but never saw signs of you contacting her."
Neal was silent for a moment, apparently taking that in. "Did we ever meet? Before you arrested me?"
"Only once. I was at a bank where they'd found one of your bonds...."
The other side was silent save for Neal's soft breathing as he listened to the story.
Epilogue
Neal hadn't expected to like anything about prison, but he liked working in the kitchen. It gave him focus.
It was a good job, too. Even in a low security prison, there was something prestigious about being allowed to work with knives.
His bunkmate was trying to get him to use his job to influence the prison's cuisine. Mike was a wannabe fitness guru who spent most of his free time working on a book he planned to publish when he was released next year. It was going to be called The Club Fed Diet and was going to be about getting fit and eating well in prison. He wanted Neal to push for healthier cafeteria options, but Neal didn't have much pull there.
But he could make the best food he could, and Neal took pride in that. When he'd first come to prison, he'd been excused from work at first while they evaluated his condition. But now that he was strong enough to stand for hours on end, he found he vastly preferred to keep busy.
Right now, he was cooking a large pot of spaghetti. Spaghetti was one of the first recipes he'd learned to make when he was young, and he used to cook it for himself a lot when he was in his teens.
Neal froze. A lump formed in his throat. He could remember cooking at home when he was fifteen or sixteen. His mother was working a night shift then, and he made them dinner almost every night.
It wasn't the first memory to return, but it was one of the latest ones. Every time another puzzle piece fell into place, he felt like he might cry with joy.
He hadn't told anyone he was regaining his memory. He wasn't sure if he would. He still liked the idea of getting a fresh start, and that seemed simpler if he had amnesia.
"Hey, Caffrey."
It was the voice of Hanson, one of the guards. Neal looked over his shoulder, expecting to be asked why he'd stopped working.
"Someone else can take care of that. There's someone here to see you."
One of his coworkers was already coming over to take his place, and Neal took off his apron robotically. It was only when he was following Hanson out of the kitchen, and pulling off his hairnet, that something occurred to him.
"Today isn't a visiting day." Worry started to fill him.
"It's not a regular visitor," Hanson explained. "A federal agent's here to see you."
"Did they say why?"
"Nope."
Neal's dread only increased. He'd thought the Feds were satisfied with his conviction.
Instead of taking him to the usual visiting room, Hanson led Neal to the legal visit room. Neal had never been there before, but he recognized the man sitting at the table.
"Agent Burke. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Peter nodded at Hanson, and Hanson left them, closing the door behind him. Neal sat down across from Peter.
"I thought I'd check in on you," Peter said, sounding almost sheepish.
Neal raised an eyebrow. "You used your privilege as a federal agent to visit an inmate just because you wanted to say hi?"
"You have a problem with that?"
Neal shrugged. "Nope. No complaints here. Do you visit everyone you put away, or am I special?"
Peter dodged the question, asking instead, "How are you holding up?"
"Could be worse. I have a job in the kitchen. And my bunkmate's made me take up running."
Peter frowned. "Wait, made you?"
"Oh, it's just some fitness program. I agreed to be his guinea pig. I think it's been good for me, though. And I'm working on my GED."
Peter beamed. "Really? That's great."
"It gives me something to do."
"What about Annabelle? You hear from her at all?"
"We've written a few times. I don't know if we'll keep in touch, but it's nice to get the letters. Kate came to visit a couple months ago."
Mozzie hadn't visited at all, which hurt a little. But Neal got the sense that that was just how Mozzie was. And Mozzie put money in his commissary account every month, which was a nice compensation.
"You're doing okay, then?" Peter asked.
Neal started to lie, but realized that this might be the only conversation he would ever have where he could be honest. "It's still hard to accept. I don't see how I'm supposed to accept blame for something I don't remember."
"Even if you remembered, I don't think I'd expect you to take responsibility."
"No, I get the impression I wasn't the type of guy who would."
"I'm sure it's not easy to give up being Steve Tabernackle."
"I don't know," Neal said, shaking his head. "Sometimes I'm glad to be away from all of that. One thing I can say for prison, you get plenty of time to clear your head."
"And you'll get out in what, eighteen months now?"
"Fifteen with my good time credit."
Thanks to the request for leniency, and the reduced number of charges, he'd gotten a sentence of two and a half years. He knew he didn't have anything to complain about.
"That'll be good."
"Yeah, I guess. I don't think there are a lot of opportunities for ex-cons with amnesia."
Between the restitution he'd had to pay, his medical bills, and the taxes and penalties, the money in his Steve Tabernackle account was long gone. Right now, he wasn't optimistic about his future.
There was still the promise of hidden treasures, but Neal hadn't decided what he was going to do. Even if he wanted to risk going back to prison by selling the stolen items, he wasn't positive he'd ever find his alleged stashes. He doubted, somehow, that Mozzie truly knew where most of it was.
"Don't be too hard on yourself," Peter said. "You're smart, you'll figure something out."
Neal wondered if Peter was here partly out of guilt, or a desire to reassure himself that Neal was all right. It couldn't be very fun to send an amnesiac to prison.
"Any luck with your memory?" Peter asked.
"I don't know...It's still hard to say. There might be some improvement."
"Well, maybe you could work as an appraiser or security expert."
Neal raised his eyebrows. "Or consult for the FBI?"
Peter blinked, and then chuckled. "Maybe. Who knows?"
"If I ever remember what I used to know about forgeries, I'll give you a call."
"I'm sure you will."
Sitting back, Neal smiled and said, "You must be bored if you're coming here to chat with me. Don't have any interesting cases?"
"Actually," Peter said with a sly smile, "I'll have you know that I do. A forger. Maybe as good as you were."
"Well, that wouldn't mean anything to me, but I'll take it as a compliment. What's the guy's name?"
"We're calling him the Dutchman."
"Sounds mysterious. Can you tell me about him?"
"I can tell you a few things, if you have time."
"Are you kidding?" Neal said with a laugh. "I have fifteen months."
Resting his elbows on the table, he leaned in to listen.
This entry was originally posted at http://citrinesunset.dreamwidth.org/127801.html. Please comment there using OpenID.