fic: whom the gods love die young - White Collar/Chuck, Neal + Bryce, PG-13
REVISE
Title: whom the gods love dies young
Fandom(s): White Collar/Chuck
Pairing/Characters: Neal Caffrey, Bryce Larkin
Rating: PG-13
Summary: For this prompt by tigriswolf at comment_fic.
"Trophonius? That's an odd name."
"Not if you know your Greek mythology." Neal's eyes are shuttered. Not surprising. Peter rarely knows what the other man is thinking. Sometimes he thinks he knows, but- "Besides, it's just a password."
"It's not very catchy."
"It wouldn't be a good password if just anybody could come up with it."
"I suppose... But how did you come up with it? Did you open up something by Ovid and point to the first funny name on the page?" Peter's only teasing. Neal smiles with him, but the smile is strangely distant.
"Ovid was Roman," Neal says. He never answers the question.
Trophonius was a son of Erginus - son of Clymenus, conqueror of Thebes. Trophonius and his brother, Agamedes, built a great temple to the Greek god Apollo. For their love, the gods promised the brothers six days of leisure followed by a gift. This gift, said the gods, could be anything the brothers most passionately wished.
He hears about it the way he hears most things - indirectly. Through back channels, from sources he will deny any knowledge of if asked.
"How high will they go?"
"From what I heard? The sky's the limit. They seriously want this guy. Heard they got close to him, too. About a month ago, in Des Moines, of all fucking places."
He does the math in his head, thinks of the e-mail he received around the time his brother was in Iowa. His heart sinks.
"That it?"
"Guy's a ghost, man. So are the people after him. Sorry. You still gonna-"
"Yeah. You'll get your package. You call me if anything more develops."
"Sure thing."
He dials a number and speaks as soon as he hears someone pick up on the other end.
"Cut it out," he says, trying his damnedest to enfuse those three words with a conversation's worth of understanding yet empassioned disapproval.
He gets a wry tone of cautious humor for his efforts.
"Well, hello to you too, baby brother. Enjoying Burma?"
"You're only older than me by seventy-three seconds." It's an old and silly argument between the two of them. A comfortable routine to fall back on when there's nothing else to reassure them of the other's unchanging presence in a life full of chaos and adaptation. The life of a spy, the life of a criminal... You'd be surprised how similar the two can be. "Malimar is lovely."
"No one tried to cut off your hand this time?"
"I didn't say that. Stop stirring up trouble."
There's only a second's pause. "You stirred up the trouble, baby brother. So occasionally I... run interferance between you and the consequences of your actions? It's nothing you haven't done for me."
"Running interferance? That's what you want to call it?"
"I thought 'startling genius' might be over-selling it."
"Just stop."
The humor is gone when his brother solemnly replies, "I'm being careful.". He doesn't want to hear the stubborn determination in the paltry offering because he's afraid where it will lead. But he's been a twin all his life - able to read his counterpart's every inflection.
That's the problem here. He's been a twin all his life... And he never wants to know what it's like to be anything else.
"You don't have a monopoly on risking your life for the sake of others, you know, little bro."
"That's different," he says.
"How?"
'Because it just is,' he thinks, but he knows that won't help his case any. Nothing less than tying his brother up and shoving him in a closet will stop him when he's set his mind on something.
And even then it's an iffy thing. They've both always been good at escaping knots.
Half a year later, when he's staring down at a tombstone that reads Bryce Larkin, he wishes he would have at least tried the rope.
"Trophonius had a brother."
"Yeah?"
The job's over and done with and Peter still doesn't know what about it got Neal so worked up.
He just knows he's never visited Neal's apartment when there wasn't a fine selection of wine present in the abode. And he's never visited Neal when he's been well past drunk, all those bottles emptied in one evening.
"Agamedes. They built the temple to Apollo at Delphi."
"Okay..." This obviously has something to do with Neal's mood, the drinking. But Peter'll be damned if he can say what ancient Greek mythology has to do with anything. "What happened to them?"
Peter knows everything there is to know about Neal, starting five years ago. Before that? His intel's sketchy. Before Neal's eighteenth birthday? It's positively nonexistant. Peter can't say whether or not Neal has any siblings. Had any siblings?
Neal's face- For a moment Peter wishes he hadn't asked. Wishes never to know about the years of Neal's childhood if they somehow led to the desolation that shows on his face.
The moment passes and Neal's mask is back in place - impressive for someone so drunk.
"Some say they built temples for men as well as the gods. They built one for a great king and filled it with treasure," Neal says in a neutral voice. "But one day they tried to take the treasure for themselves. The king laid a trap for Trophonius, and Agamedes got caught in it."
This is why Peter doesn't care much for Greek mythology. "Neal-"
"Know what Trophonius did?"
Peter probably doesn't want to know. But he does want to be there for his friend. "What?"
Neal's eyes are staring straight at Peter, but Peter doesn't know what they're seeing. It's unsettling.
"Trophonius cut off Agamedes' head," Neal says.
That's- Unexpected.
"Why would he do that?" Peter asks.
"So that the king would think that he had won."
"Hadn't he?"
Neal doesn't answer. His eyes, suspiciously bright, don't move from whatever invisible sight they're seeing. He doesn't blink.
With a start, Peter realizes why he's trying not to. A tear spills over the edge of one of Neal's lashes.
"Neal..." Peter isn't good with crying... anyone, apparently. And he sort of hates himself for it, but he says. "Let's get you to bed." It is possible that Neal just needs to sleep off his last glass of Merlot. If Neal wanted Peter to know about these things (whatever they are, hidden behind the pratter about some old Greek tall tale) he'd want to tell Peter while he's in complete control.
Neal's lips twitch. It's a sad mimicry of his usual smile, but it's recognizable as a smile at least. "Why, Peter. I thought you'd never ask."
Yeah. There is definitely a need of sleep in Neal.
"Okay. Come on." Peter lifts Neal by the elbow and begins to lead him towards his bedroom.
He's almost home free - Neal tucked beneath his sheets, still in most of his clothing (he'll give Peter hell about that tomorrow, but there's no way Peter's helping Neal get more comfortable right now - with all that wine in Neal, and Neal's last words in his mind) - his curiousity in check and his keys in hand, when Neal grabs his arm.
Peter is afraid of what he'll see when he slowly turns to look back down at Neal, but Neal is masked once more.
"Peter... I wasn't the one who did the cutting," Neal says. And unfortunately Peter thinks he knows how the words make sense.
"I believe you," he says. Neal let's him go.
But Peter doesn't leave until long after Neal has drifted to sleep.
For six days, the brothers did whatever they chose. Some say, on the seventh day, the brothers wished for skills that would bring them great fortune. And that, one day, this gift would become their curse.
Others say that the brothers' most passionate wish was only to remain together - that whatever the gods had planned for Trophonius they also arranged for Agamedes, and vice versa.
For six days the brothers did whatever they chose.
On the seventh day they were found dead. On the steps of the Temple of Apollo at Delphi.
Their bodies lay side by side, together forever.
He hears about it the way he hears most things. He travels to D.C. and marches up the side of a grassy hill, half hoping to find a different name written on the newly planted tombstone at the top, but he'd known that any hope was futile.
His sources are never wrong.
Bryce Larkin the tombstone reads.
He falls to his knees.
"How did this happen?"
"They had a lead. Something solid. He was just trying to throw them off track," Mozzie says, voice thick. "He promised me..."
Bryce laughs. Mozzie looks at him, fear apparent through the sheen of his tears. Mozzie's never been comfortable around Bryce. He's always found the degree to which Bryce and Neal were identical unsettling and Bryce's choice in profession is not condusive to comfortable relationships with anyone, but particularly conmen.
And probably Mozzie hears the manic desperation in Bryce's laughter.
Bryce isn't really laughing. His body is searching for an appropriate outlet for the unmanageable level of emotion inside of him. He's already cried more than he ever has before, than he can remember even from childhood, and his face is still wet. His fists are clenched so tightly that the bandages around both of his hands have turned red.
"He promised..." Bryce repeats. But he isn't mad at Neal. If he hadn't become Bryce Larkin, Neal wouldn't ever have felt the need to step in as Bryce Larkin in his stead. Neal wouldn't have died in his name.
"What are you going to do?" Mozzie asks.
Bryce looks up at him. He isn't sure what's in his eyes, but the fear in Mozzie's intensifies.
Still, the other man points a finger at Bryce and stutters, "N-no. No you don't. Neal risked everything to protect you from-"
"I'm not going to stand back while the men who killed my brother walk away. They wanted Bryce Larkin? They're going to get him." Bryce smiles. And this time he means it.
Mozzie shakes his head. "Let the other spooks take care of him. Neal would never forgive you if you went and got yourself killed after all of this. He'd never forgive me for letting you."
"He's dead, Moz." The words stick in Bryce's throat but he forces them out. He's prepared for Mozzie to yell at him. To fight some more.
Bryce wants a fight. He doesn't want it with Neal's friend, but Mozzie will see that soon enough. He'll see that Bryce is his brother's twin, whether his brother is alive or dead. He can't be talked out of something he has set his mind on...
He isn't prepared for Mozzie to talk softly. To crouch down in front of him with gentle eyes.
"No," Mozzie says. "Bryce Larkin is."
The request comes as a surprise. Peter is prepared for part of it. Neal prepared him. Neal's made it clear, for some time now, that he won't be sticking around once his time with the FBI is over. Peter's never understood the decision, but Neal's helped him accept it.
However, this-
This doesn't make sense. Neal could ask for anything after all he's done for the Bureau. If he doesn't want to work in the Manhatten office, he could work in any office in the country. He could get glowing recommendations - from some very important people - to work wherever else he chooses. He's made quite the name for himself over the years that he and Peter have worked together.
This... will lose him the advantage of all of that.
"It can be done, right? The Bureau would agree to it... Surely they can understand my concern. I've made quite a few enemies over the years."
"Yes, but-" But Peter doubts Neal is really "concerned" about that. Neal can more than take care of himself. And he's made quite a few friends over his years with the Bureau, as well. There's no need to-
Neal smiles. It's one of his old smiles, his 'Trust me, Peter; I'm onto something' grins. With a pang, Peter realizes... this is really happening. Neal's time in the anklet is growing to a close. Neal is leaving. Peter might never see this smile again.
"Don't worry, Peter," Neal says. "It won't be the last you see of me. You know I'll find a way to keep in touch."
Peter had hoped. But it's nice to hear Neal say the words. Still...
Peter shakes his head. "I'd like that, Neal. You know that. But- Are you sure this is the way you want to go?"
Peter knows Neal now better than he would have thought possible five years back. Yet there are still times when he can't begin to imagine what Neal is thinking.
"I have my reasons," is all Neal will say.
Peter has little choice but to respect his wishes.
Friday the Bureau throws Neal a party, and afterward June hosts a more intimate gathering for Neal's closest friends: Peter and Elizabeth, Mozzie, Diana; Jones, Sara and Alex.
Neal Caffrey's obituary is posted in next Saturday's paper.
Peter visits Neal's grave a couple of weeks later. Neal has a grave. He had a service. Mozzie arranged all the details. Elizabeth made Peter write Neal a letter about it, certain Neal would be touched by the number of people who showed up, some with tears in their eyes; saying that he'd probably find the sermon amusing, hence Mozzie's choice of it. Elizabeth says Peter can send the letter when Neal (when - Elizabeth refuses to say if) contacts them.
To tell the truth, Peter's been a little bit bitter. He still doesn't understand why all this cloak and dagger business is necessary.
He's still a bit hurt that Neal didn't chose just to stay with them (although he'll never say so aloud).
"There's an empty casket down there," Peter says when he senses a presence at his side.
Mozzie steps closer.
"Why is there an empty casket down there?" Mozzie has avoided every opportunity in which Peter might have gotten to question him about Neal's decision; Peter's hope is that maybe Mozzie is here now, at the same time as Peter - which couldn't be an accident - because he's ready to give Peter some answers.
"Tradition?" Mozzie says. Peter looks at him sharply. Mozzie shrugs.
"Have a little faith, Peter. All will be revealed in due time."
Peter snorts. What a Mozzie thing to say.
But Mozzie turns to him and keeps speaking. "You know, you ought to feel honored. Neal didn't have to involve you in any of this. He didn't need the FBI to fake a death, you know. Going through the proper channels... That was all for your benefit."
Of all the-
"Are you joking?"
Typically, Mozzie takes the question at face value. "Not at all. A lot of this was for you. Well. You and Kate. Neal had to- He had to take care of some family business... But he knew that the people who had Kate would come after you too. You knew him just about as well as she and I did. He wanted a safe place for- Someone very dear to him. A change of pace. And he needed someone to look after you and find Kate... He figured this would be a win-win situation for everybody."
Now Peter is truly at a loss. Had he thought that Mozzie would bring him answers? He's not even sure how to phrase his thoughts on the circles that Mozzie is talking into new questions.
"What are you talking about? Find Kate- That was years ago. What does Kate have to do with Neal faking his own death now." Peter knows that, for a while, Neal held out hope that Kate's death was more than it seemed. But he was sure that those hopes had been put to rest a long time ago.
"I'm not talking about now," Mozzie says. "I'm talking about then. Now... Now the Ring is gone. Neal's obligations to the FBI are taken care of. It's time for a new start. For the both of them. Once they have it... All these things you've been in the dark about? They'll come to light."
Peter struggles with where to start. What ring? The both of whom? Neal and Kate? What "things" has he been in the dark about?
Mozzie smiles. "Trust me. I know how you're feeling. He didn't let me in on the plan at first either. And Bryce... Well, he didn't find out til that job you two did in California a couple of years ago. Remember?"
Peter does. Vaguely. They'd had to work with the CIA, who were looking for ways to get at the CEO of a technology corporation in Burbank. Their part in the case had been confusing, brief, and - for whatever reason - extremely disturbing to Neal. It led to the only time in all the time that Peter's known him that Peter has seen Neal drunk.
Peter remembers Neal telling him a bunch of strange facts about Greek mythology, looking lost and hurting. Peter's never found out what that was all about.
"Bryce?" he asks.
"It'll be easier to believe if you wait to ask that question until they can show you," Mozzie tells him.
They're the last words he says before turning and walking away, leaving Peter with Neal's tombstone and the unfamiliar words carved on it.
"This is why I don't care much for the Greek," Peter says to no one.
Then jots down the engraving to translate once he gets home.
[end.]
I hope this made at least a little bit of sense :p
Title: whom the gods love dies young
Fandom(s): White Collar/Chuck
Pairing/Characters: Neal Caffrey, Bryce Larkin
Rating: PG-13
Summary: For this prompt by tigriswolf at comment_fic.
"Trophonius? That's an odd name."
"Not if you know your Greek mythology." Neal's eyes are shuttered. Not surprising. Peter rarely knows what the other man is thinking. Sometimes he thinks he knows, but- "Besides, it's just a password."
"It's not very catchy."
"It wouldn't be a good password if just anybody could come up with it."
"I suppose... But how did you come up with it? Did you open up something by Ovid and point to the first funny name on the page?" Peter's only teasing. Neal smiles with him, but the smile is strangely distant.
"Ovid was Roman," Neal says. He never answers the question.
Trophonius was a son of Erginus - son of Clymenus, conqueror of Thebes. Trophonius and his brother, Agamedes, built a great temple to the Greek god Apollo. For their love, the gods promised the brothers six days of leisure followed by a gift. This gift, said the gods, could be anything the brothers most passionately wished.
He hears about it the way he hears most things - indirectly. Through back channels, from sources he will deny any knowledge of if asked.
"How high will they go?"
"From what I heard? The sky's the limit. They seriously want this guy. Heard they got close to him, too. About a month ago, in Des Moines, of all fucking places."
He does the math in his head, thinks of the e-mail he received around the time his brother was in Iowa. His heart sinks.
"That it?"
"Guy's a ghost, man. So are the people after him. Sorry. You still gonna-"
"Yeah. You'll get your package. You call me if anything more develops."
"Sure thing."
He dials a number and speaks as soon as he hears someone pick up on the other end.
"Cut it out," he says, trying his damnedest to enfuse those three words with a conversation's worth of understanding yet empassioned disapproval.
He gets a wry tone of cautious humor for his efforts.
"Well, hello to you too, baby brother. Enjoying Burma?"
"You're only older than me by seventy-three seconds." It's an old and silly argument between the two of them. A comfortable routine to fall back on when there's nothing else to reassure them of the other's unchanging presence in a life full of chaos and adaptation. The life of a spy, the life of a criminal... You'd be surprised how similar the two can be. "Malimar is lovely."
"No one tried to cut off your hand this time?"
"I didn't say that. Stop stirring up trouble."
There's only a second's pause. "You stirred up the trouble, baby brother. So occasionally I... run interferance between you and the consequences of your actions? It's nothing you haven't done for me."
"Running interferance? That's what you want to call it?"
"I thought 'startling genius' might be over-selling it."
"Just stop."
The humor is gone when his brother solemnly replies, "I'm being careful.". He doesn't want to hear the stubborn determination in the paltry offering because he's afraid where it will lead. But he's been a twin all his life - able to read his counterpart's every inflection.
That's the problem here. He's been a twin all his life... And he never wants to know what it's like to be anything else.
"You don't have a monopoly on risking your life for the sake of others, you know, little bro."
"That's different," he says.
"How?"
'Because it just is,' he thinks, but he knows that won't help his case any. Nothing less than tying his brother up and shoving him in a closet will stop him when he's set his mind on something.
And even then it's an iffy thing. They've both always been good at escaping knots.
Half a year later, when he's staring down at a tombstone that reads Bryce Larkin, he wishes he would have at least tried the rope.
"Trophonius had a brother."
"Yeah?"
The job's over and done with and Peter still doesn't know what about it got Neal so worked up.
He just knows he's never visited Neal's apartment when there wasn't a fine selection of wine present in the abode. And he's never visited Neal when he's been well past drunk, all those bottles emptied in one evening.
"Agamedes. They built the temple to Apollo at Delphi."
"Okay..." This obviously has something to do with Neal's mood, the drinking. But Peter'll be damned if he can say what ancient Greek mythology has to do with anything. "What happened to them?"
Peter knows everything there is to know about Neal, starting five years ago. Before that? His intel's sketchy. Before Neal's eighteenth birthday? It's positively nonexistant. Peter can't say whether or not Neal has any siblings. Had any siblings?
Neal's face- For a moment Peter wishes he hadn't asked. Wishes never to know about the years of Neal's childhood if they somehow led to the desolation that shows on his face.
The moment passes and Neal's mask is back in place - impressive for someone so drunk.
"Some say they built temples for men as well as the gods. They built one for a great king and filled it with treasure," Neal says in a neutral voice. "But one day they tried to take the treasure for themselves. The king laid a trap for Trophonius, and Agamedes got caught in it."
This is why Peter doesn't care much for Greek mythology. "Neal-"
"Know what Trophonius did?"
Peter probably doesn't want to know. But he does want to be there for his friend. "What?"
Neal's eyes are staring straight at Peter, but Peter doesn't know what they're seeing. It's unsettling.
"Trophonius cut off Agamedes' head," Neal says.
That's- Unexpected.
"Why would he do that?" Peter asks.
"So that the king would think that he had won."
"Hadn't he?"
Neal doesn't answer. His eyes, suspiciously bright, don't move from whatever invisible sight they're seeing. He doesn't blink.
With a start, Peter realizes why he's trying not to. A tear spills over the edge of one of Neal's lashes.
"Neal..." Peter isn't good with crying... anyone, apparently. And he sort of hates himself for it, but he says. "Let's get you to bed." It is possible that Neal just needs to sleep off his last glass of Merlot. If Neal wanted Peter to know about these things (whatever they are, hidden behind the pratter about some old Greek tall tale) he'd want to tell Peter while he's in complete control.
Neal's lips twitch. It's a sad mimicry of his usual smile, but it's recognizable as a smile at least. "Why, Peter. I thought you'd never ask."
Yeah. There is definitely a need of sleep in Neal.
"Okay. Come on." Peter lifts Neal by the elbow and begins to lead him towards his bedroom.
He's almost home free - Neal tucked beneath his sheets, still in most of his clothing (he'll give Peter hell about that tomorrow, but there's no way Peter's helping Neal get more comfortable right now - with all that wine in Neal, and Neal's last words in his mind) - his curiousity in check and his keys in hand, when Neal grabs his arm.
Peter is afraid of what he'll see when he slowly turns to look back down at Neal, but Neal is masked once more.
"Peter... I wasn't the one who did the cutting," Neal says. And unfortunately Peter thinks he knows how the words make sense.
"I believe you," he says. Neal let's him go.
But Peter doesn't leave until long after Neal has drifted to sleep.
For six days, the brothers did whatever they chose. Some say, on the seventh day, the brothers wished for skills that would bring them great fortune. And that, one day, this gift would become their curse.
Others say that the brothers' most passionate wish was only to remain together - that whatever the gods had planned for Trophonius they also arranged for Agamedes, and vice versa.
For six days the brothers did whatever they chose.
On the seventh day they were found dead. On the steps of the Temple of Apollo at Delphi.
Their bodies lay side by side, together forever.
He hears about it the way he hears most things. He travels to D.C. and marches up the side of a grassy hill, half hoping to find a different name written on the newly planted tombstone at the top, but he'd known that any hope was futile.
His sources are never wrong.
Bryce Larkin the tombstone reads.
He falls to his knees.
"How did this happen?"
"They had a lead. Something solid. He was just trying to throw them off track," Mozzie says, voice thick. "He promised me..."
Bryce laughs. Mozzie looks at him, fear apparent through the sheen of his tears. Mozzie's never been comfortable around Bryce. He's always found the degree to which Bryce and Neal were identical unsettling and Bryce's choice in profession is not condusive to comfortable relationships with anyone, but particularly conmen.
And probably Mozzie hears the manic desperation in Bryce's laughter.
Bryce isn't really laughing. His body is searching for an appropriate outlet for the unmanageable level of emotion inside of him. He's already cried more than he ever has before, than he can remember even from childhood, and his face is still wet. His fists are clenched so tightly that the bandages around both of his hands have turned red.
"He promised..." Bryce repeats. But he isn't mad at Neal. If he hadn't become Bryce Larkin, Neal wouldn't ever have felt the need to step in as Bryce Larkin in his stead. Neal wouldn't have died in his name.
"What are you going to do?" Mozzie asks.
Bryce looks up at him. He isn't sure what's in his eyes, but the fear in Mozzie's intensifies.
Still, the other man points a finger at Bryce and stutters, "N-no. No you don't. Neal risked everything to protect you from-"
"I'm not going to stand back while the men who killed my brother walk away. They wanted Bryce Larkin? They're going to get him." Bryce smiles. And this time he means it.
Mozzie shakes his head. "Let the other spooks take care of him. Neal would never forgive you if you went and got yourself killed after all of this. He'd never forgive me for letting you."
"He's dead, Moz." The words stick in Bryce's throat but he forces them out. He's prepared for Mozzie to yell at him. To fight some more.
Bryce wants a fight. He doesn't want it with Neal's friend, but Mozzie will see that soon enough. He'll see that Bryce is his brother's twin, whether his brother is alive or dead. He can't be talked out of something he has set his mind on...
He isn't prepared for Mozzie to talk softly. To crouch down in front of him with gentle eyes.
"No," Mozzie says. "Bryce Larkin is."
The request comes as a surprise. Peter is prepared for part of it. Neal prepared him. Neal's made it clear, for some time now, that he won't be sticking around once his time with the FBI is over. Peter's never understood the decision, but Neal's helped him accept it.
However, this-
This doesn't make sense. Neal could ask for anything after all he's done for the Bureau. If he doesn't want to work in the Manhatten office, he could work in any office in the country. He could get glowing recommendations - from some very important people - to work wherever else he chooses. He's made quite the name for himself over the years that he and Peter have worked together.
This... will lose him the advantage of all of that.
"It can be done, right? The Bureau would agree to it... Surely they can understand my concern. I've made quite a few enemies over the years."
"Yes, but-" But Peter doubts Neal is really "concerned" about that. Neal can more than take care of himself. And he's made quite a few friends over his years with the Bureau, as well. There's no need to-
Neal smiles. It's one of his old smiles, his 'Trust me, Peter; I'm onto something' grins. With a pang, Peter realizes... this is really happening. Neal's time in the anklet is growing to a close. Neal is leaving. Peter might never see this smile again.
"Don't worry, Peter," Neal says. "It won't be the last you see of me. You know I'll find a way to keep in touch."
Peter had hoped. But it's nice to hear Neal say the words. Still...
Peter shakes his head. "I'd like that, Neal. You know that. But- Are you sure this is the way you want to go?"
Peter knows Neal now better than he would have thought possible five years back. Yet there are still times when he can't begin to imagine what Neal is thinking.
"I have my reasons," is all Neal will say.
Peter has little choice but to respect his wishes.
Friday the Bureau throws Neal a party, and afterward June hosts a more intimate gathering for Neal's closest friends: Peter and Elizabeth, Mozzie, Diana; Jones, Sara and Alex.
Neal Caffrey's obituary is posted in next Saturday's paper.
Peter visits Neal's grave a couple of weeks later. Neal has a grave. He had a service. Mozzie arranged all the details. Elizabeth made Peter write Neal a letter about it, certain Neal would be touched by the number of people who showed up, some with tears in their eyes; saying that he'd probably find the sermon amusing, hence Mozzie's choice of it. Elizabeth says Peter can send the letter when Neal (when - Elizabeth refuses to say if) contacts them.
To tell the truth, Peter's been a little bit bitter. He still doesn't understand why all this cloak and dagger business is necessary.
He's still a bit hurt that Neal didn't chose just to stay with them (although he'll never say so aloud).
"There's an empty casket down there," Peter says when he senses a presence at his side.
Mozzie steps closer.
"Why is there an empty casket down there?" Mozzie has avoided every opportunity in which Peter might have gotten to question him about Neal's decision; Peter's hope is that maybe Mozzie is here now, at the same time as Peter - which couldn't be an accident - because he's ready to give Peter some answers.
"Tradition?" Mozzie says. Peter looks at him sharply. Mozzie shrugs.
"Have a little faith, Peter. All will be revealed in due time."
Peter snorts. What a Mozzie thing to say.
But Mozzie turns to him and keeps speaking. "You know, you ought to feel honored. Neal didn't have to involve you in any of this. He didn't need the FBI to fake a death, you know. Going through the proper channels... That was all for your benefit."
Of all the-
"Are you joking?"
Typically, Mozzie takes the question at face value. "Not at all. A lot of this was for you. Well. You and Kate. Neal had to- He had to take care of some family business... But he knew that the people who had Kate would come after you too. You knew him just about as well as she and I did. He wanted a safe place for- Someone very dear to him. A change of pace. And he needed someone to look after you and find Kate... He figured this would be a win-win situation for everybody."
Now Peter is truly at a loss. Had he thought that Mozzie would bring him answers? He's not even sure how to phrase his thoughts on the circles that Mozzie is talking into new questions.
"What are you talking about? Find Kate- That was years ago. What does Kate have to do with Neal faking his own death now." Peter knows that, for a while, Neal held out hope that Kate's death was more than it seemed. But he was sure that those hopes had been put to rest a long time ago.
"I'm not talking about now," Mozzie says. "I'm talking about then. Now... Now the Ring is gone. Neal's obligations to the FBI are taken care of. It's time for a new start. For the both of them. Once they have it... All these things you've been in the dark about? They'll come to light."
Peter struggles with where to start. What ring? The both of whom? Neal and Kate? What "things" has he been in the dark about?
Mozzie smiles. "Trust me. I know how you're feeling. He didn't let me in on the plan at first either. And Bryce... Well, he didn't find out til that job you two did in California a couple of years ago. Remember?"
Peter does. Vaguely. They'd had to work with the CIA, who were looking for ways to get at the CEO of a technology corporation in Burbank. Their part in the case had been confusing, brief, and - for whatever reason - extremely disturbing to Neal. It led to the only time in all the time that Peter's known him that Peter has seen Neal drunk.
Peter remembers Neal telling him a bunch of strange facts about Greek mythology, looking lost and hurting. Peter's never found out what that was all about.
"Bryce?" he asks.
"It'll be easier to believe if you wait to ask that question until they can show you," Mozzie tells him.
They're the last words he says before turning and walking away, leaving Peter with Neal's tombstone and the unfamiliar words carved on it.
"This is why I don't care much for the Greek," Peter says to no one.
Then jots down the engraving to translate once he gets home.
[end.]
I hope this made at least a little bit of sense :p