WC Fic: "Loyalties" (Epilogue--part 4 of 4)
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Title: Loyalties (part 4 of 4)
Author: Ivorysilk
Rating: R
Summary: Organized Crime wants to borrow Neal. Peter, still smarting over Neal’s betrayal in order to go after Fowler, has no objections to Neal being out of his hair and someone else’s problem for a while. Neal, on the other hand, is dragging his heels and reluctant to cooperate, but won’t explain exactly why. Peter makes sure Neal is aware of his options: doing his job and wearing an orange tie undercover, or not doing his job and wearing an orange jumpsuit for the rest of his life. (Cleaned up slightly from a fic written for this prompt (spoilers) at the anonymous kink meme. Thanks to the prompter, sorry it veered off. Also being used for one of my hurt/comfort bingo squares.)
Spoilers: Somewhere post Point Blank.
Warnings (highlight to read): Lack of beta. Language. References to physical brutality, torture, or rape. (not seen on-screen). Filling the "kidnapping" square on my bingo card. Adult themes and suchlike.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, or this universe. I am writing this for my own self-indulgent fun, and because, like Neal, I clearly covet other people's things, even as I know they will never be my own.
Comments, positive or negative, are treasured. Thanks for reading.
*************************************************
Back to part one.
Back to part two.
Back to part three.
*************************************************
************************************************
Peter had been staring at the report on his desk for the past hour. The words blurred.
… thirty-two year old male who presented at the E.R. for a forensic examination after being reportedly held against his will … clothing surrendered to forensic team … patient appeared in good health …
… moderately dehydrated, and admitted to having very limited food or liquid intake during that period …low blood pressure … patient complained of thirst and displayed some generalized weakness and fatigue …
… patient initially appeared compliant, but became increasingly resistant during the examination, and required persuasion to remove his covering …
… large lesion on left side of face, as well as a laceration measuring approximately 0.5 inches over the left eye … stitches were required to …
…pupils reactive, but patient complained of headache … difficult to ascertain any other symptoms as patient denied feeling confused and indicated he could not recall being hit on the head … unclear whether patient’s report indicates any memory loss or rather a refusal to provide information …
…patient refused a CAT scan …
… patient refused any examination below the waist, although he permitted palpitation of abdomen, and denied any traumatic or inflicted injury …
… patient had several lacerations and contusions, as well as small circular burn marks, across his back, including upper and lower back … the contusions were of various sizes … patient would not permit even a visual exam of the entirety of the lumbar region …
… patient had marks measuring approximately 2.5 inches long on his arms and upper torso consistent with the shape of fingers … query sexual assault …when questioned, patient emphatically denied any sexual assault …
… patient had apparent fractures of the fourth and fifth ribs, and was referred for x-rays, to which patient did consent after some persuasion …
… patient could provide no clear explanation for the injuries …
…patient was encouraged to attend at his family doctor for follow-up and monitoring …
…results inconclusive, as examination was incomplete, please see attached …
Peter stopped reading. He didn’t look at the photographs. He didn’t look at the report from forensics. He stared out the window at the cityscape before him. He was still staring when Diana knocked on his door an hour later.
“Yeah Diana?” Peter asked distractedly, not really looking up.
“Everything ok, boss?” Diana’s gaze was kind, concerned, polite.
Peter pulled himself together, looking at her now. “Yup. Just fine. What do you have?”
Diana’s expression didn’t change. “Forensics came back with the report on Neal, didn’t they?”
She’d always been perceptive, and he really wanted to share this, to discuss his concern and his worry and his uncertainty about how to deal with this latest Neal development, but at the very least he owed Neal his privacy, and that at least he could do. It was the least he could do. “That’s classified, Diana. You know that.”
“I’m not asking, boss. But I hope he’s okay.”
“Yeah, Diana, me too.”
“Have you spoken to him yet?”
“No, he’s not answering his phone.”
“He’s at his desk, Peter," replied Diana wryly. "You could just walk over."
“What?” asked Peter, startled.
Peter had told Neal to take the week off. He had stayed with Neal until late into Friday morning, but had left when Neal remained in bed and unresponsive; he had tried to call Neal over the weekend, but Neal didn’t answer. He’d even gone over there Saturday evening-Elizabeth had driven him, when Peter’s worry had started driving her mad, even though he couldn’t give her details about why, wouldn’t tell her what wasn’t his place to tell--but June wasn’t home to let him in, and Neal wasn’t responding to calls or door bells. So he’d called Haversham, and told him to keep an eye on Neal, but Haversham told him Neal was being elusive, which was code for Neal was hiding from him too. Alex he had had no way to contact at the present time and couldn’t justify using Bureau resources to track her down, and Sara hadn’t even known that Neal was injured-when he’d called her, she’d explained her believe that Neal had been on a stakeout or something and was tired, but had still had some work to catch up on over the weekend, which worked out fine for her as she’d needed to work all weekend anyway.
Still, Peter had expected that Neal would at least take advantage of the offered time away.
But when Peter looked down, there Neal was, strolling over to the coffee-maker in the office, slightly more stiffly than usual perhaps, but with a fair approximation of his trademark swagger. He was dressed to the nines, and was smiling as if nothing worse than a hangnail had ever occurred to him in his life.
Peter did the double finger point when he saw him. “Neal! Get in here.”
He watched Neal walk towards his office, the hint of a bounce in his step. His manner and expression almost distracted from his unhealthy pallor, the slight limp to his gait that wasn’t just from the newly attached anklet. Had Peter not known of Neal’s ordeal, even he might have missed it.
“Yeah, Peter?” smiled Neal brightly.
“How are you?” Peter's voice was measured and serious, countering Caffrey's breezy attitude.
“Just fine. You wanted to see me?” Neal made no move to sit down; instead, he hovered by the door.
“Get in here, and shut the door.”
“Whatever it is, I didn’t do it. I was good all week, I promise.” Neal’s grin was blinding and utterly, utterly false.
“I called you,” said Peter.
“I was sleeping,” said Neal, and his tone was just a tad defensive, although he tried to hide it.
“Five times.” Peter kept his tone mild.
“I was busy. You said I was off work, and it was the weekend.” And now Neal definitely sounded defensive and almost a little sulky. “You said I could have a few days, just like a real agent.” And now he definitely sounded put out, before he visibly collected himself, taking a breath and smiling broadly, all calm and breezy again. “Did you need something?”
“No, I was just - I received your medical report.” And Neal’s smile vanished.
“And?” Neal’s voice was decidedly uneasy.
Peter could have whitewashed. He could have eased into the conversation. He could have cut Neal some slack. But this was Neal. And the one thing that Peter had learnt was that when dealing with Neal, any slack would be hauled up and somehow made into five more ropes. So he dove right in.
“And you don’t provide an explanation. You didn’t let them complete a full exam.”
And now Neal was definitely shaken, but to his credit, he tried. “I got roughed up a bit, Peter. They didn’t exactly treat me gently, but it was no more than usual. The doctor was annoying me, and I didn’t like it. I don’t have to submit to that, Peter.” Ah, that card. Neal knew where to hit.
But Peter wasn’t giving either. Neal talked the talk, knew all the right things to say, and used this knowledge to his advantage; the problem, Peter realized, was that Neal didn’t really believe the words. Peter didn’t know, refused to think about, the kinds of things Neal might submit to, given sufficient inducement. Or perceived lack of choice.
“No, you don’t,” Peter said forcefully, hoping Neal believed him. Hoping Neal understood that Peter meant it. “But Neal-“
Neal rushed in, cutting Peter off. “And there was nothing in there that said I couldn’t be at work, and here I am and I’m ready to do whatever you want, so there’s no problem, is there?” So that was why Neal was here. He was trying to protect himself, trying to make sure that there was no reason to inquire further, no reason to doubt him. And to be fair, another agent, even Hughes, wouldn’t have bothered to delve any deeper. Neal was their consultant, and he was doing his job, and that was all that would have mattered.
It wasn’t all that mattered to Peter. “No, but-“
“So are we done?” And Neal was all but squirming, clearly ready to escape as soon as an opening presented itself.
“I’m sorry, Neal,” said Peter, because it had to be said, because Peter knew he could never forgive himself. “I’m sorry. For what it’s worth. I should have trusted you.”
“It’s all right,” said Neal, too quickly. “I didn’t give you any reason to think there was a problem, really. So no harm, no foul. We done?”
Peter blinked at him. How could Neal just let it go? But … there didn’t seem to be anything else to say. Helplessly, he told him, “They’re going to add forcible confinement to the list of potential charges. Assault, whatever else, if you give a statement. Will you?”
“Whatever you want, Peter.” Neal’s smile was open and guileless, and almost, almost completely free of the resentment and bitterness that had flashed momentarily in his eyes. He knew he had no choice, even if Peter had asked. “Does this mean you’ve caught him?” Neal asked the question casually, but there was a tension to his frame that betrayed his anxiety over the response.
“Not yet,” said Peter. “We will.” Peter’s voice was a promise, but Neal looked away and out the window--in an effort, Peter realized, to hide the guilty relief that flooded his face. In a sudden flash of insight, Peter understood why, although his resolve didn’t change. Neal, who was gentle as a lamb, had served four long years. This monster deserved far, far worse.
He wondered, then, if he should, if he could, tell Neal it was okay. Okay not to want to testify. Okay not to want to relive it.
Okay to feel guilty that this meant that Haggerty was still out on the street.
Even as Peter wondered why Neal wasn’t indicating any fear at the fact that Haggerty was still running loose. Peter didn’t know what that meant, either. But Peter couldn’t help the feeling that this meant something was deeply, deeply wrong with his younger friend. But Neal’s expression had closed off, and gone blank, and he was still looking out the window. Peter wasn’t fooled. Neal was fighting for control.
Peter looked up, and waited until Neal was forced to look back at him. He held Neal’s gaze. “You know, the FBI has a counseling service. As our consultant, and for a work-related incident, you qualify. It’s also completely confidential. That means, Neal, even if you tell them you stole the Mona Lisa they wouldn’t tell me. No,” Peter held up a hand, when Neal once again opened his mouth to interrupt, “don’t say anything. I’m just letting you know it exists. Go, don’t go, but just so you know it’s there. And Neal?”
“Yeah, Peter?” There was wariness in Neal’s tone. Neal’s stunned look had faded, and now he just looked freaked. Neal, Peter knew, hated being found out. Hated anyone to see him vulnerable. Hated to be understood. Peter was slow, but he was learning about Neal-not Neal the unsub, Neal the perp, or Neal the conman-but Neal. And learning about Neal was a painstaking process, filled with unexpected pitfalls.
And for all his effort, it wasn’t like Peter even liked what he was learning. Because it made him ache for Neal, blurred the lines between action and motive and consequence, and made Peter wish, really wish, that he hadn’t been the one to catch Neal. That they weren’t in this uneasy position, that he didn’t need to dance this dance with Neal, especially now.
That Neal could really trust him, and that he could allow it.
Screw it. “And Neal, I’m here too. Not as Agent Burke, but just as Peter. If you need me. Anytime. Just so you know.”
Neal didn’t say anything, but by the shocked expression and the immediately dropped eyes, and the way he wouldn’t meet Peter’s gaze, Peter knew that the message had been (at least to some extent) received.
And that was the best he could do.
He dismissed Neal, and stared out at the city, which still moved and breathed and lived. Whatever happened, New York City marched on. He thought about Neal, and Elizabeth, and Haggerty’s victims, three little foreign girls they’d pulled from one of the other warehouses, before they’d found Neal. He thought about the realization on their faces when they realized they’d been rescued. He thought about the tears in their eyes, the hollow look in Neal’s, and how life wasn’t fair, and how he couldn’t fix it.
Suddenly, suddenly he missed Elizabeth with a pang, and needed to speak to her, to hear her voice, to just know that she existed and she loved him and he would see her when he got home. He thought about Kate, and whether she loved Neal like he loved Elizabeth, like Elizabeth loved him, and if so, how Neal couldn’t tell her about his cache, couldn’t trust her completely. Couldn’t call her when he was tired and heartsick, and especially not now, when it was her loss he mourned, when he needed her most.
He thought about those girls, alone in a cold city that didn’t speak their language and had no place for them.
He thought about all these things, and he didn’t call his wife. Instead, he stared at the photo of her in Greece, the wind in her hair and the smile lighting up her face, and thought about how he could tell her anything.
He watched Neal smile at Diana, who was clearly teasing him about who knew what. It looked almost normal, until he saw Neal’s flinch of pain at a sudden movement that he immediately tried to cover, until he saw the protective, concerned look flit across Diana’s face before being wiped clean.
He watched his team bustle around the office: Jones calling to Eto, Morgan annoyed about someone putting a used coffee mug on his desk, Chan diligently working at her desk. He saw Jones glance over at Neal, from time to time, offering casually to get him a coffee, to bring him a file, suggesting lunch.
On impulse, he sent Neal an e-mail, telling him he was taking him to lunch at Monte Bello, and it was work, so he better not be planning to goof off with Jones. He saw Neal turn towards his office and smile. To Peter, it seemed a shadow of the brilliant enthusiasm Neal usually displayed, but underneath it all he thought he saw a genuine Neal smile, and Peter couldn’t help but smile back. It seemed like such a small thing to do, completely inadequate, completely ridiculous.
But then he wondered if Neal should be eating that kind of food yet. He wondered if Neal even wanted to. Neal had been - if he drew the logical conclusion, Neal had been tortured for three days. It seemed incongruous with the Neal laughing at his desk, tossing a rubber band ball, still chatting with Diana.
Peter wondered if he would be able to tell what Neal really wanted, without Neal saying anything, and whether he could ever believe him if he did. Because if he believed what Neal wanted him to believe, just because it wasn’t illegal, just because it didn’t matter to a case, just because it was far more convenient--did that make it all okay? Even if it was what Neal seemed to want?
The low hum of chatter, Hughes barking at someone the next office over, the frenetic pace of the city at work below him. Everything might have changed, and nothing really had.
His office was quiet, there were files across his desk-other criminal to be caught, other thieves and vandals and defrauders to be brought to justice, like Neal, like Haggerty--and he had accomplished nothing all morning. Peter reached for the closest file on his desk, opened it, and started reading about the next case.
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End! Comments, questions, thoughts, very very much appreciated :-).
Back to part one.
Back to part two.
Back to part three.
Title: Loyalties (part 4 of 4)
Author: Ivorysilk
Rating: R
Summary: Organized Crime wants to borrow Neal. Peter, still smarting over Neal’s betrayal in order to go after Fowler, has no objections to Neal being out of his hair and someone else’s problem for a while. Neal, on the other hand, is dragging his heels and reluctant to cooperate, but won’t explain exactly why. Peter makes sure Neal is aware of his options: doing his job and wearing an orange tie undercover, or not doing his job and wearing an orange jumpsuit for the rest of his life. (Cleaned up slightly from a fic written for this prompt (spoilers) at the anonymous kink meme. Thanks to the prompter, sorry it veered off. Also being used for one of my hurt/comfort bingo squares.)
Spoilers: Somewhere post Point Blank.
Warnings (highlight to read): Lack of beta. Language. References to physical brutality, torture, or rape. (not seen on-screen). Filling the "kidnapping" square on my bingo card. Adult themes and suchlike.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, or this universe. I am writing this for my own self-indulgent fun, and because, like Neal, I clearly covet other people's things, even as I know they will never be my own.
Comments, positive or negative, are treasured. Thanks for reading.
*************************************************
Back to part one.
Back to part two.
Back to part three.
*************************************************
************************************************
Peter had been staring at the report on his desk for the past hour. The words blurred.
… thirty-two year old male who presented at the E.R. for a forensic examination after being reportedly held against his will … clothing surrendered to forensic team … patient appeared in good health …
… moderately dehydrated, and admitted to having very limited food or liquid intake during that period …low blood pressure … patient complained of thirst and displayed some generalized weakness and fatigue …
… patient initially appeared compliant, but became increasingly resistant during the examination, and required persuasion to remove his covering …
… large lesion on left side of face, as well as a laceration measuring approximately 0.5 inches over the left eye … stitches were required to …
…pupils reactive, but patient complained of headache … difficult to ascertain any other symptoms as patient denied feeling confused and indicated he could not recall being hit on the head … unclear whether patient’s report indicates any memory loss or rather a refusal to provide information …
…patient refused a CAT scan …
… patient refused any examination below the waist, although he permitted palpitation of abdomen, and denied any traumatic or inflicted injury …
… patient had several lacerations and contusions, as well as small circular burn marks, across his back, including upper and lower back … the contusions were of various sizes … patient would not permit even a visual exam of the entirety of the lumbar region …
… patient had marks measuring approximately 2.5 inches long on his arms and upper torso consistent with the shape of fingers … query sexual assault …when questioned, patient emphatically denied any sexual assault …
… patient had apparent fractures of the fourth and fifth ribs, and was referred for x-rays, to which patient did consent after some persuasion …
… patient could provide no clear explanation for the injuries …
…patient was encouraged to attend at his family doctor for follow-up and monitoring …
…results inconclusive, as examination was incomplete, please see attached …
Peter stopped reading. He didn’t look at the photographs. He didn’t look at the report from forensics. He stared out the window at the cityscape before him. He was still staring when Diana knocked on his door an hour later.
“Yeah Diana?” Peter asked distractedly, not really looking up.
“Everything ok, boss?” Diana’s gaze was kind, concerned, polite.
Peter pulled himself together, looking at her now. “Yup. Just fine. What do you have?”
Diana’s expression didn’t change. “Forensics came back with the report on Neal, didn’t they?”
She’d always been perceptive, and he really wanted to share this, to discuss his concern and his worry and his uncertainty about how to deal with this latest Neal development, but at the very least he owed Neal his privacy, and that at least he could do. It was the least he could do. “That’s classified, Diana. You know that.”
“I’m not asking, boss. But I hope he’s okay.”
“Yeah, Diana, me too.”
“Have you spoken to him yet?”
“No, he’s not answering his phone.”
“He’s at his desk, Peter," replied Diana wryly. "You could just walk over."
“What?” asked Peter, startled.
Peter had told Neal to take the week off. He had stayed with Neal until late into Friday morning, but had left when Neal remained in bed and unresponsive; he had tried to call Neal over the weekend, but Neal didn’t answer. He’d even gone over there Saturday evening-Elizabeth had driven him, when Peter’s worry had started driving her mad, even though he couldn’t give her details about why, wouldn’t tell her what wasn’t his place to tell--but June wasn’t home to let him in, and Neal wasn’t responding to calls or door bells. So he’d called Haversham, and told him to keep an eye on Neal, but Haversham told him Neal was being elusive, which was code for Neal was hiding from him too. Alex he had had no way to contact at the present time and couldn’t justify using Bureau resources to track her down, and Sara hadn’t even known that Neal was injured-when he’d called her, she’d explained her believe that Neal had been on a stakeout or something and was tired, but had still had some work to catch up on over the weekend, which worked out fine for her as she’d needed to work all weekend anyway.
Still, Peter had expected that Neal would at least take advantage of the offered time away.
But when Peter looked down, there Neal was, strolling over to the coffee-maker in the office, slightly more stiffly than usual perhaps, but with a fair approximation of his trademark swagger. He was dressed to the nines, and was smiling as if nothing worse than a hangnail had ever occurred to him in his life.
Peter did the double finger point when he saw him. “Neal! Get in here.”
He watched Neal walk towards his office, the hint of a bounce in his step. His manner and expression almost distracted from his unhealthy pallor, the slight limp to his gait that wasn’t just from the newly attached anklet. Had Peter not known of Neal’s ordeal, even he might have missed it.
“Yeah, Peter?” smiled Neal brightly.
“How are you?” Peter's voice was measured and serious, countering Caffrey's breezy attitude.
“Just fine. You wanted to see me?” Neal made no move to sit down; instead, he hovered by the door.
“Get in here, and shut the door.”
“Whatever it is, I didn’t do it. I was good all week, I promise.” Neal’s grin was blinding and utterly, utterly false.
“I called you,” said Peter.
“I was sleeping,” said Neal, and his tone was just a tad defensive, although he tried to hide it.
“Five times.” Peter kept his tone mild.
“I was busy. You said I was off work, and it was the weekend.” And now Neal definitely sounded defensive and almost a little sulky. “You said I could have a few days, just like a real agent.” And now he definitely sounded put out, before he visibly collected himself, taking a breath and smiling broadly, all calm and breezy again. “Did you need something?”
“No, I was just - I received your medical report.” And Neal’s smile vanished.
“And?” Neal’s voice was decidedly uneasy.
Peter could have whitewashed. He could have eased into the conversation. He could have cut Neal some slack. But this was Neal. And the one thing that Peter had learnt was that when dealing with Neal, any slack would be hauled up and somehow made into five more ropes. So he dove right in.
“And you don’t provide an explanation. You didn’t let them complete a full exam.”
And now Neal was definitely shaken, but to his credit, he tried. “I got roughed up a bit, Peter. They didn’t exactly treat me gently, but it was no more than usual. The doctor was annoying me, and I didn’t like it. I don’t have to submit to that, Peter.” Ah, that card. Neal knew where to hit.
But Peter wasn’t giving either. Neal talked the talk, knew all the right things to say, and used this knowledge to his advantage; the problem, Peter realized, was that Neal didn’t really believe the words. Peter didn’t know, refused to think about, the kinds of things Neal might submit to, given sufficient inducement. Or perceived lack of choice.
“No, you don’t,” Peter said forcefully, hoping Neal believed him. Hoping Neal understood that Peter meant it. “But Neal-“
Neal rushed in, cutting Peter off. “And there was nothing in there that said I couldn’t be at work, and here I am and I’m ready to do whatever you want, so there’s no problem, is there?” So that was why Neal was here. He was trying to protect himself, trying to make sure that there was no reason to inquire further, no reason to doubt him. And to be fair, another agent, even Hughes, wouldn’t have bothered to delve any deeper. Neal was their consultant, and he was doing his job, and that was all that would have mattered.
It wasn’t all that mattered to Peter. “No, but-“
“So are we done?” And Neal was all but squirming, clearly ready to escape as soon as an opening presented itself.
“I’m sorry, Neal,” said Peter, because it had to be said, because Peter knew he could never forgive himself. “I’m sorry. For what it’s worth. I should have trusted you.”
“It’s all right,” said Neal, too quickly. “I didn’t give you any reason to think there was a problem, really. So no harm, no foul. We done?”
Peter blinked at him. How could Neal just let it go? But … there didn’t seem to be anything else to say. Helplessly, he told him, “They’re going to add forcible confinement to the list of potential charges. Assault, whatever else, if you give a statement. Will you?”
“Whatever you want, Peter.” Neal’s smile was open and guileless, and almost, almost completely free of the resentment and bitterness that had flashed momentarily in his eyes. He knew he had no choice, even if Peter had asked. “Does this mean you’ve caught him?” Neal asked the question casually, but there was a tension to his frame that betrayed his anxiety over the response.
“Not yet,” said Peter. “We will.” Peter’s voice was a promise, but Neal looked away and out the window--in an effort, Peter realized, to hide the guilty relief that flooded his face. In a sudden flash of insight, Peter understood why, although his resolve didn’t change. Neal, who was gentle as a lamb, had served four long years. This monster deserved far, far worse.
He wondered, then, if he should, if he could, tell Neal it was okay. Okay not to want to testify. Okay not to want to relive it.
Okay to feel guilty that this meant that Haggerty was still out on the street.
Even as Peter wondered why Neal wasn’t indicating any fear at the fact that Haggerty was still running loose. Peter didn’t know what that meant, either. But Peter couldn’t help the feeling that this meant something was deeply, deeply wrong with his younger friend. But Neal’s expression had closed off, and gone blank, and he was still looking out the window. Peter wasn’t fooled. Neal was fighting for control.
Peter looked up, and waited until Neal was forced to look back at him. He held Neal’s gaze. “You know, the FBI has a counseling service. As our consultant, and for a work-related incident, you qualify. It’s also completely confidential. That means, Neal, even if you tell them you stole the Mona Lisa they wouldn’t tell me. No,” Peter held up a hand, when Neal once again opened his mouth to interrupt, “don’t say anything. I’m just letting you know it exists. Go, don’t go, but just so you know it’s there. And Neal?”
“Yeah, Peter?” There was wariness in Neal’s tone. Neal’s stunned look had faded, and now he just looked freaked. Neal, Peter knew, hated being found out. Hated anyone to see him vulnerable. Hated to be understood. Peter was slow, but he was learning about Neal-not Neal the unsub, Neal the perp, or Neal the conman-but Neal. And learning about Neal was a painstaking process, filled with unexpected pitfalls.
And for all his effort, it wasn’t like Peter even liked what he was learning. Because it made him ache for Neal, blurred the lines between action and motive and consequence, and made Peter wish, really wish, that he hadn’t been the one to catch Neal. That they weren’t in this uneasy position, that he didn’t need to dance this dance with Neal, especially now.
That Neal could really trust him, and that he could allow it.
Screw it. “And Neal, I’m here too. Not as Agent Burke, but just as Peter. If you need me. Anytime. Just so you know.”
Neal didn’t say anything, but by the shocked expression and the immediately dropped eyes, and the way he wouldn’t meet Peter’s gaze, Peter knew that the message had been (at least to some extent) received.
And that was the best he could do.
He dismissed Neal, and stared out at the city, which still moved and breathed and lived. Whatever happened, New York City marched on. He thought about Neal, and Elizabeth, and Haggerty’s victims, three little foreign girls they’d pulled from one of the other warehouses, before they’d found Neal. He thought about the realization on their faces when they realized they’d been rescued. He thought about the tears in their eyes, the hollow look in Neal’s, and how life wasn’t fair, and how he couldn’t fix it.
Suddenly, suddenly he missed Elizabeth with a pang, and needed to speak to her, to hear her voice, to just know that she existed and she loved him and he would see her when he got home. He thought about Kate, and whether she loved Neal like he loved Elizabeth, like Elizabeth loved him, and if so, how Neal couldn’t tell her about his cache, couldn’t trust her completely. Couldn’t call her when he was tired and heartsick, and especially not now, when it was her loss he mourned, when he needed her most.
He thought about those girls, alone in a cold city that didn’t speak their language and had no place for them.
He thought about all these things, and he didn’t call his wife. Instead, he stared at the photo of her in Greece, the wind in her hair and the smile lighting up her face, and thought about how he could tell her anything.
He watched Neal smile at Diana, who was clearly teasing him about who knew what. It looked almost normal, until he saw Neal’s flinch of pain at a sudden movement that he immediately tried to cover, until he saw the protective, concerned look flit across Diana’s face before being wiped clean.
He watched his team bustle around the office: Jones calling to Eto, Morgan annoyed about someone putting a used coffee mug on his desk, Chan diligently working at her desk. He saw Jones glance over at Neal, from time to time, offering casually to get him a coffee, to bring him a file, suggesting lunch.
On impulse, he sent Neal an e-mail, telling him he was taking him to lunch at Monte Bello, and it was work, so he better not be planning to goof off with Jones. He saw Neal turn towards his office and smile. To Peter, it seemed a shadow of the brilliant enthusiasm Neal usually displayed, but underneath it all he thought he saw a genuine Neal smile, and Peter couldn’t help but smile back. It seemed like such a small thing to do, completely inadequate, completely ridiculous.
But then he wondered if Neal should be eating that kind of food yet. He wondered if Neal even wanted to. Neal had been - if he drew the logical conclusion, Neal had been tortured for three days. It seemed incongruous with the Neal laughing at his desk, tossing a rubber band ball, still chatting with Diana.
Peter wondered if he would be able to tell what Neal really wanted, without Neal saying anything, and whether he could ever believe him if he did. Because if he believed what Neal wanted him to believe, just because it wasn’t illegal, just because it didn’t matter to a case, just because it was far more convenient--did that make it all okay? Even if it was what Neal seemed to want?
The low hum of chatter, Hughes barking at someone the next office over, the frenetic pace of the city at work below him. Everything might have changed, and nothing really had.
His office was quiet, there were files across his desk-other criminal to be caught, other thieves and vandals and defrauders to be brought to justice, like Neal, like Haggerty--and he had accomplished nothing all morning. Peter reached for the closest file on his desk, opened it, and started reading about the next case.
***********************************
End! Comments, questions, thoughts, very very much appreciated :-).
Back to part one.
Back to part two.
Back to part three.