Fic: Five Things Neal Caffrey Taught the McKinley High Students and Staff
A/N: Set early S2 Glee, and sometime in the middle of S2 of White Collar, post Forging Bonds, but pre-Under the Radar.
For hoosierbitch , cuz she’s awesome.
----
Be Prepared to Follow Through
Neal stopped by his locker on his way to lunch. He was headed out to a surprisingly decent sushi place at the Mid-State Mall; there was no way in hell he’d be caught eating the cafeteria food. He’d befriended the owner’s wife and she daily made him a special vegetarian Bento box to go. He grabbed his vintage black trilby - the one made from actual rabbit’s hair felt - from the shelf, stowed his books and checked for his keys.
He turned to leave and saw a hulk of a kid standing in front of him. He was big, maybe six-four, and dressed in a McKinley letterman jacket, a large cup from a local convenience store chain held menacingly in his left hand. Two nearly identical goons flanked him. Neal recognized all the hallmarks of a bully when he saw one - he’d encountered plenty of them in his life - the set of the shoulders, the sneer, the air of superiority and its underpinning of fear and doubt. And he knew how to deal with it effectively, but it didn’t mean this would be pleasant.
Neal sighed and then pasted on his most winning smile. “Good afternoon.”
The kid swirled whatever it was he had in the cup. “There’s two ways this can go,” he began. “Hard or easy. Because you’re new here, I’ll let you choose.”
“I don’t suppose you’d care to add a third option?” Neal asked mildly, spreading his hands. “The suit is vintage, after all. When you’re older, you’ll understand.”
“Nah,” the boy replied with a sneer and his friends laughed harshly. He cocked his left arm back.
Moving almost too quickly to track, Neal neatly sidestepped the brute. He turned sideways and aimed a vicious kick at the kid’s ankle bone with the pointed toe of his Oxford. The kid stumbled and, almost before the drink hit the floor with an obscene purple splash, Neal had grabbed him by the wrist, wrenched it behind him and shoved the lout into the lockers. Karofsky’s shouted “Hey!” turned into a pained yelp as Neal twisted his wrist cruelly, applying pressure that would easily dislocate his shoulder if he chose.
“You like to push people around, do you?” Neal hissed into his ear. He had to stand on his toes to do it, but he mustered up his most menacing voice. When he got no answer from the bully, he twisted the arm he had pinned, eliciting a pained gasp. “I asked you a question.”
“Yeah!”
Neal continued, his voice lowering a few octaves, “I suppose none of your nameless rabble of victims has ever fought back. That’s fair enough - law of the jungle and et cetera. But I didn’t spend four years in Supermax without picking up a few things. I see you with another one of those drinks on campus again, and you’ll find you’ll be removing it from places you didn’t know you had, son. You get me?”
Karofsky whimpered a yes and Neal let him go. He rejoined his friends, who, being the cowards they were, had done nothing to aid him. Neal straightened out his jacket and watched them regroup and slink away. He noted with disgust that a small amount of the sugary drink had landed on the tip of his shoe. He pulled out a handkerchief and bent to wipe it off.
When he stood, he saw Artie and Kurt standing nearby among a knot of students who’d been attracted by the commotion. Both of them had their mouths hanging open, and expressions of utter awe on their faces. “You just took down Karofsky,” Artie said, his eyes shining with admiration.
Neal knew that look - the next step would be hero worship, and he was having none of it. “I did what I had to do.” He continued down the hall and the two boys fell into step with him, Kurt pushing Artie in front of him. Both were eager to grill Neal on how he’d done it and where he’d learned how to move like that.
“Karofsky’s been on my back all semester,” Kurt said. “You’ve got to teach me how to do that!”
“No,” Neal answered.
“What?” both boys said in unison.
Neal stopped walking and faced them both. “I mean, I could show you the moves, and you’d even become really good at them. I’m a great teacher. But that’s not half of what it takes to defend against a jerk like Karofsky.”
“It sure looked like enough,” Artie said with a disappointed pout.
Neal smiled kindly. “No. Not by a long shot. You see, in order to do what I just did, you have to be prepared to actually hurt someone. You have to be willing to follow through. A threat of violence is rarely effective unless there’s actual intent behind it. I would not have bested The Thing back there unless I had every intention of breaking his arm. And believe me, I had every intention of breaking his arm if it became necessary. You guys don’t seem like the types to be able to pull it off, I’m happy to say, and I hope you never have to.”
“I think I could, Neal,” Kurt said quietly. “I’m at the point where I really think I could.”
Neal took a step forward and put a hand on Kurt’s shoulder, looking intently into the teen’s eyes. “I pray you don’t, Kurt. It’s a hard thing to realize you’ve got the capacity inside yourself to harm another person. If you do, then what you do with it will ultimately decide the type of man you become. But most people don’t have it. They pretend to, like that moose Karofsky, but they don’t, not really. Can you honestly tell me you have it?”
Kurt stared into Neal’s eyes for several seconds, and when he blinked, there were tears in them. “I suppose I don’t.”
Neal squeezed his shoulder reassuringly and then stepped back. “But there are other things I can teach you, ways to defuse a situation. Meet me after Glee this afternoon, and I’ll teach you the art of the misdirect.”
Kurt and Artie both smiled in anticipation.
----
Love Yourself Before You Love Another
There were several minutes to go before class started, and Neal sat alone in the choir room, checking his emails on his Blackberry. He’d received a picture from Elizabeth of Satchmo playing with the new McKinley Frisbee he’d sent, and several cryptic messages from Moz he was sure probably added up to giving him shit about coming here, only in code. He sighed when he saw no note from Peter. That was ok, he told himself, they were probably just really busy at the office.
He looked up as someone took the seat next to him. Santana Lopez sat sideways in the chair, back straight as she leaned forward, pressing her knee between both of his, a hungry expression on her face he surmised must be her sexy look. He had to admit that it worked on her. She had her Cheerios uniform on, exposing a long length of shapely thigh, and oh, if only she weren’t 16.
He pushed her leg away and said, “Hello, JB.” JB stood for jailbait, of course, his name for her ever since she’d cornered him in the boys’ locker room his second week at the school. He’d just come from the shower, and it was all he could do to keep her hands off of him and his towel around his waist.
She was undeterred, and rested her hand on his knee. “I’ve decided older guys are it for me. There’s a level of sophistication there that these high school boys can’t match.” She licked her lips.
Neal picked up her hand and placed it on her own knee. “Consider the operative word in that sentence,” he told her with a charming smile. “I’m literally twice your age.”
“Then you can rent a hotel room with no problem,” she said, not giving up at all.
He regarded her carefully, considering his next words. “Santana, you do come on strong, don’t you?”
“It’s how I roll.”
He nodded. “So I’ve seen. And heard. You’ve got quite the reputation around the school.”
She sat up straight, a flash of anger marring her beautiful face. “Who’s talking? What are they saying? I’ma bust some ass!”
He placed a calming hand on her wrist. “Don’t even pretend it’s a shock to you. Word gets around. It makes me wonder why, though. A beautiful girl like you should respect herself more. There’s nothing more sexy than that, you know.”
“You can keep your After School Special psychology to yourself, Neal, and ask yourself why a 32-year old man finds it necessary to hang out with teenagers,” Santana scoffed, and began to stand.
Neal held onto her wrist and made her sit back down. “You’re better at deflecting than me, and that’s saying something. Tell me something, Santana, why do you hate yourself?”
What happened next surprised Neal thoroughly. He expected her to rage, to level him with yet another of her cutting insults, or even to punch him somewhere sensitive. He did not expect her to start crying. He pulled the handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her, and inched closer to put an arm around her trembling shoulders. “Shh, shh,” he soothed. “It’s OK, it’ll all be ok.”
“No, it won’t,” she sobbed prettily. “I’m so unhappy.”
He squeezed her shoulder comfortingly and made more shushing sounds. “Tell me about it. It’ll help to talk.”
She dried the tears from her face, but couldn’t look at him as she made her confession. “I’m in love with my best friend,” she whispered, and began to cry again.
Finally, Neal understood her acting out, because he related to it completely. “I know it’s hard, Santana. Having these feelings you don’t really understand, being different from everyone. I get it, I’ve been there.”
She looked up at him, eyes widening. “You’re a homo too?”
He blinked; she was nothing if not direct. “Well, I’m bi, actually. But my point is that you’re not the only person to feel this way, and you don’t have to be alone in this. There are groups you can join, people you can talk to. Kurt. Me. We can support each other.”
“I am so not ready to take a ride on the rainbow float, Neal.”
“And I’m not telling you that you ever have to. But it seems to me that denying who you are and these feelings you have is just making you unhappy, making you hate yourself, and that’s just wrong.”
“What am I supposed to do?” she asked, blowing her nose in his handkerchief noisily.
“I think you need to pay a little attention to yourself. My mom taught me that if you can love yourself unconditionally, then others can’t help but love you too. It was a hard lesson for me to learn at the time, and it’s one I struggle with even now.”
“You?” she sniffed. “But you’re so hot.”
He smiled. “I’m glad you think so. But it’s actually part of the reason I’ve come back here. Back home, there’s a man I’m in love with, and I’m not so sure his feelings are the same as mine. It’s great when we’re together, but he’s -“ Neal’s expression was far away, wistful. He shook himself, as if he’d revealed too much. “Well, it’s complicated. And one of the things that complicates it is in my head.” He tapped his forefinger on his temple for emphasis.
Neal continued, “The fact that I never graduated from high school had never been important to me before I met this person, but now it is. It’s like I feel I’m not good enough or smart enough to deserve to be with him.”
“Neal, that’s not true,” Santana said frankly, an earnest expression on her face that made her look every one of her 16 years. “If he doesn’t see that, then he’s not good enough for you.”
He smiled. “Thank you, but I’m the one who needs to be convinced of that, I think. I’ve got to prove it to myself before I can prove it to him. And this is the first step, coming back to McKinley. Am I making any sense?”
She nodded.
“And do you think you can work on that part for yourself too?”
She smiled. “I can try.”
“It’s all I can ask of you. And I’ll try too.” She tried to hand back his handkerchief and he gestured for her to keep it.
By now, some of the other students had arrived, and they both turned to face the room. Neal caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and he reached a hand out to grab Santana’s wrist; her hand had been creeping up her own thigh. “When I said you should love yourself, I meant the self-esteem kind, JB. You got that, right?”
“I know,” she said with a wicked grin. “Just kidding.”
----
It’s All in the Wrist
Neal headed for his gym locker, annoyed with himself for having forgotten his keys there. It was late afternoon, and he’d have preferred to be on his way by now. As he went to leave, he heard a strange scratching coming from the far side of the room. He went to investigate and found Noah Puckerman kneeling down in front of Coach Bieste’s office door, trying to force the lock.
“What are you using, a RoboPick?” Neal commented.
Puck jumped, looked over at him with a guilty expression. “Coach Bieste took my cell phone. If I lose another one, my mom’s going to kill me.”
Neal sighed and took a step forward. He moved Puck out of the way with an arm. “Well, don’t use one of those, they’re about as subtle as a battering ram. Let me.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a leather case. Unzipping it, he pulled out two stainless steel lockpicks, which he inserted into the door. The lock gave way within seconds of his skilled ministrations, leaving no trace of forced entry. Neal removed the picks, gesturing at the door for Puck to enter.
Two minutes later, Puck returned, shoving his cell into his jeans pocket.
“Well, lock it up again,” Neal admonished. “Don’t want to let her know anyone was here.”
Puck complied. “Thanks, Neal,” he said gratefully. Neal turned to leave. “Hey Neal?”
“Hmm?”
“Is it true what everyone is saying - that you’re some sort of badass international criminal mastermind?”
Neal raised an eyebrow, wondering at the evolution of high school rumors. “Hardly.”
“You think you could give me some pointers?”
“No.”
“Well then, how about how to use those lockpicks? They look like they’d come in handy.”
“Becoming the Fagin of Lima, OH was not a goal of mine, Puck. Besides, didn’t I hear you just got out of Juvey? Why would you want to tempt fate and risk going back there? I’ll be honest with you, you lack the wit to make a good con.”
“Well, what I lack in smarts I more than make up for in sheer bravado,” Puck said with a smile.
Neal laughed, wondering how he’d managed to use the word ‘bravado’ properly. “Answer’s still no. But if you’re good and stay in school, maybe I’ll teach you a few card tricks.”
“That’d be awesome.”
Neal just shook his head. He had no intention of doing it. Or maybe he did - who knew? Life around these parts was more boring than he’d remembered. He needed a hobby.
----
Live Your Truth
Neal sat in homeroom, scrolling listlessly through emails on his Blackberry, looking for something he knew wasn’t there - a note from Peter. He’d been back in Lima for over a month now, and had had almost no communication from him. And while his days were busy, his nights were long and lonely, and he felt Peter’s silence acutely. He didn’t want to read too much into it - Peter was laconic at the most, terse at the least. He didn’t expect daily barrages of texts or flowery language, but the lack of even a “How ya doin’?” message hurt more than he was willing to admit.
“Neal?” the teacher said, approaching him. He looked up, expectantly. “Miss Pillsbury would like to see you in her office.” He handed Neal a note and a hall pass and returned to the front of the room.
“Have a seat,” Emma invited, gesturing to the ones aligned in front of her desk. She couldn’t suppress a frown when he pulled it out and over, at an angle. Angles weren’t good. She forced herself to ignore it and began. “Neal, I wanted to talk with you about something important.”
He looked at her expectantly and she took a deep breath. “I’m not sure if you even realize this, but I’ve noticed something lately. A lot of the children seem to be idolizing you.”
Neal was taken aback. Aside from a sudden fad among the kids at the school for wearing fedoras, he had no idea he’d made any kind of impact, and he told her so.
“Be that as it may, your presence here has had an effect, and I’m not so sure it’s one you ever intended. Yesterday, I overheard Noah Puckerman say he planned to ‘Caffrey’ his way into a nightclub, and last week, Kurt and Mercedes were discussing plans for conning their way across the south of France.”
“That’s not as easy as it sounds,” Neal offered, and she gave him a look.
“I like you, Neal, and I admire what you’re trying to do by coming back to school, but if your being here jeopardizes the children in any way, then I’m afraid this arrangement won’t work out,” Emma finished, her eyes wide and sincere, but her meaning clear.
Neal took a deep breath. “I want you to know that I understand you completely,” he began. “I would never do anything to encourage these kids to follow the path I’ve taken, or to glamorize it in any way.”
“I didn’t mean to imply that you had.”
He held up a hand. “I know, and thank you for believing that I wouldn’t, Emma. I didn’t think many people around here would give me the benefit of any doubts, and you have, and it means something. Because I am here for the right reasons, to finish something I couldn’t when I was younger, and I’ve been so lucky to have found friends and the Glee club, and I don’t want to harm any of that.
“I have a friend back home in New York named Hale, and he used to always say this one thing to me. ‘Live your truth, Neal,’ he’d say, ‘because if you’re not true to yourself, who’s ever gonna believe in you?’ And it’s a lesson that’s a little hard for a conman to come to terms with, but it’s something I strive for every day.”
“It’s a beautiful sentiment.”
Neal’s eyes twinkled. “Well, then he undercut me on an antique coin deal I had going, but you know, whatever.”
Emma gave him a slightly disapproving look.
“Anyway, so I think maybe I need to live the truth of a reformed ex-con and share some of my own lessons with these kids. Do you think it would help if I talked to them?”
She nodded. “I do.”
“I’ll do it this afternoon.”
He got up to leave, reaching his hand out to shake hers. He noticed her eyes weren’t on him as she rose, and he followed her gaze out into the hallway beyond the glass walls of her office. Will Schuester walked by, and gave her a little wave as he went on his way. Neal noticed her coloring a little when she took his hand and began to shake it.
“Speaking of living your truth, does Will know about your feelings for him?”
“Why, whatever do you mean?” she tried to lie.
“Don’t con a con. It’s pretty obvious to anyone with eyes that you’re in love with him.”
She sighed, and looked at him sadly. “And he maybe loves me, Neal, but it’s complicated.”
“It always is, Emma. But take my advice, because life’s really too short.” He had a wistful look on his face as he continued, “You need to go after love wherever it finds you, because you never know how long it’ll be there. Live your truth, Emma.”
“I’ll try,” she said, smiling, and he bent over to retrieve his bag. “But before you go -“ Emma added. Neal turned back, eyebrows raised. “Did you really steal Edvard Munch’s The Scream and sell three copies to buyers around the world?”
“Five,” he corrected, smiling. “Allegedly.”
“That does sound kind of cool,” she laughed.
He only waggled his eyebrows, smiled and left.
----
Can You Live with the Consequences?
Will Schuester called the class to order, and the kids all took their seats, looking at him expectantly.
He wrote one word on the whiteboard: Lessons.
“This week’s assignment has been suggested by one of your classmates, and it’s a really important one. But I think it’d be better if he explained it to you himself. Neal - would you like to begin?” Will waved Neal to the front of the class with a hand, and the kids applauded politely for him as he made his way to the front of the room.
“I have heard through the grapevine that certain of the more…romantic…aspects of my life history have been making the rounds at the school, and may be influencing some of you.” He noticed with interest how Kurt’s cheeks colored slightly, and Puck wouldn’t look at him. He smirked. “And I’m embarrassed to say it was more flattering than it really ought to have been, let me tell you.”
The class laughed and Neal glanced over at Will, who gave him a stern look (though he thought he detected a slight upturn to his mouth - he wasn’t sure). “Anyway, then I thought about it and I realized I needed to tell you all something.” He bent over and took a file folder out of his bag, removed a photograph from it - his own mug shot - and held it up for all to see. “I am not a role model,” he said loudly.
“Now, I know that a lot of you have heard things about me. Maybe you’ve Googled me or some of my aliases, learned about some of the things I’m supposed to have done, like breaking into the papal quarters at the Vatican - not true! - or forging certain high profile artworks. And while on the surface it all seems really glamorous and cool, you all have to remember one thing: I got caught. I went to prison. I lost the woman I loved, and people got hurt, all because of those ‘glamorous, cool’ things I did.”
He paused, let the emotion behind his words sink in with his audience. “And so the lesson I’m here to teach you all is this: make sure you can live with the consequences of what you do. If I had known the effect my actions would have on the people close to me, we might not be having this conversation, because I’d be a car salesman or something. I’ve got a lot of regrets, and if I can save just one of you a fraction of the pain I’ve seen - and caused - then maybe they’ll at least add up to something.”
The room was quiet when he finished talking, the kids taking in all that he had said, understanding suddenly dawning for most of them.
Will cleared his throat, cutting the silence. “So that’s the theme for this week, class - present us with a song that has taught you an important lesson, or that represents a lesson you have learned, like Neal here. Neal, do you have a song prepared to illustrate this week’s assignment?” Will’s tone was leading.
Neal seemed to shake himself and smiled. “I do.”
He walked over to Puck and asked to borrow his guitar, went back to the front of the room, and sat down on the stool that was there. “This song means a lot to me, because it represents something that not a lot of men in my position get in life: a second chance. So, it’s for the person who’s given me that.”
Neal began to play a low tempo melody. Then he began to sing:
“Old pirates, yes, they rob I; sold I to the merchant ships. Minutes after they took I from the bottomless pit. But my hand was made strong by the hand of the Almighty. We forward in this generation triumphantly.
“Won't you help to sing these songs of freedom? 'Cause all I ever have, redemption songs. Redemption songs.”
He continued to play the melody, and looked over at Will, saw him grooving to the music, a smile on his face. Neal nodded to him, and Will sang the next verse:
“Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery; none but ourselves can free our minds. Have no fear for atomic energy, 'cause none of them can stop the time. How long shall they kill our prophets, while we stand aside and look? Some say it's just a part of it: we've got to fulfill the Book.”
Before Neal knew it, he was surrounded by the class, and they joined in on the chorus,
“Won't you help to sing these songs of freedom? 'Cause all I ever have, redemption songs, redemption songs, redemption songs.”
Neal closed his eyes and sang the chorus again, alone, “Won't you help to sing these songs of freedom? 'Cause all I ever have, redemption songs. 'Cause all I ever have, redemption songs, redemption songs.”
He finished, the last notes of the guitar echoing along with his voice, the room completely quiet as all present contemplated the meaning of the song’s lyrics.
But a few seconds later, there was the sound of a pair of hands clapping. Neal turned with everyone to see who it was and received the most welcome surprise he’d had in a long time.
“Peter!”
----
Epilogue
“What are you doing here?” Neal asked Peter. He was happy to see him, and it took nearly all of his self control to stop himself from throwing his arms around Peter’s neck.
“I’m consulting on a case in the Cincinnati field office. Something right up your alley, actually. Thought you’d like a break or something.” He smiled, brown eyes twinkling. He was happy to see Neal too.
Neal took him by the arm and led him to an empty classroom nearby. He paused to make sure the door was closed, and when he turned to speak, Peter’s arms were around him, and they were kissing. Neal felt himself nearly melt against Peter; the strong, warm feel of his arms around him again was almost intoxicating. It felt like home, and he suddenly realized how very much he had missed it - more than he’d thought.
Neal broke the kiss and leaned his head against Peter’s shoulder, sighing contentedly. Peter reached his hand up and stroked Neal’s hair. “You know, you can be a role model, Neal,” he said quietly.
Neal looked up at him. “You heard that?”
“I did. And you’re wrong. You demonstrate every day that you’re capable of good things. You can and should be a role model.”
“Thanks, but, let’s get me off parole before we make that determination.”
“If you say so,” Peter said, not wanting to have this conversation again. It seemed he had to remind Neal of his worth all too often. “You sang beautifully,” he added.
Neal’s cheeks turned a rosy pink. “Yeah, it’s this thing I used to do when I went here. I kind of fell right back into it.”
“I like it. El would be so proud.”
Neal’s face lit up at the mention of her name. “How is she?”
“She’s well. Let me take you to dinner tonight, and we’ll catch up. They got any good restaurants in this town?”
“Well, there’s something called Breadstix. It’s appalling, but at least they have a liquor license.”
“Sounds acceptable. Think you can leave school early? Don’t want to earn you a detention or anything.”
Neal gave him a look. “This is my last class of the day. I’m sure my teacher will understand.”
Neal returned to the classroom to retrieve his bag and hat. Santana caught his eye, a question in her eyes. He glanced back at Peter and then back at her, nodded in answer. She gave him two thumbs up.
“What was that all about?” Peter asked as they left the classroom.
“Nothing. Just an After School Special in progress.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.”
----
Thank you for your time.
A/N: The song Neal sings is “Redemption Song” by Bob Marley.
For hoosierbitch , cuz she’s awesome.
----
Be Prepared to Follow Through
Neal stopped by his locker on his way to lunch. He was headed out to a surprisingly decent sushi place at the Mid-State Mall; there was no way in hell he’d be caught eating the cafeteria food. He’d befriended the owner’s wife and she daily made him a special vegetarian Bento box to go. He grabbed his vintage black trilby - the one made from actual rabbit’s hair felt - from the shelf, stowed his books and checked for his keys.
He turned to leave and saw a hulk of a kid standing in front of him. He was big, maybe six-four, and dressed in a McKinley letterman jacket, a large cup from a local convenience store chain held menacingly in his left hand. Two nearly identical goons flanked him. Neal recognized all the hallmarks of a bully when he saw one - he’d encountered plenty of them in his life - the set of the shoulders, the sneer, the air of superiority and its underpinning of fear and doubt. And he knew how to deal with it effectively, but it didn’t mean this would be pleasant.
Neal sighed and then pasted on his most winning smile. “Good afternoon.”
The kid swirled whatever it was he had in the cup. “There’s two ways this can go,” he began. “Hard or easy. Because you’re new here, I’ll let you choose.”
“I don’t suppose you’d care to add a third option?” Neal asked mildly, spreading his hands. “The suit is vintage, after all. When you’re older, you’ll understand.”
“Nah,” the boy replied with a sneer and his friends laughed harshly. He cocked his left arm back.
Moving almost too quickly to track, Neal neatly sidestepped the brute. He turned sideways and aimed a vicious kick at the kid’s ankle bone with the pointed toe of his Oxford. The kid stumbled and, almost before the drink hit the floor with an obscene purple splash, Neal had grabbed him by the wrist, wrenched it behind him and shoved the lout into the lockers. Karofsky’s shouted “Hey!” turned into a pained yelp as Neal twisted his wrist cruelly, applying pressure that would easily dislocate his shoulder if he chose.
“You like to push people around, do you?” Neal hissed into his ear. He had to stand on his toes to do it, but he mustered up his most menacing voice. When he got no answer from the bully, he twisted the arm he had pinned, eliciting a pained gasp. “I asked you a question.”
“Yeah!”
Neal continued, his voice lowering a few octaves, “I suppose none of your nameless rabble of victims has ever fought back. That’s fair enough - law of the jungle and et cetera. But I didn’t spend four years in Supermax without picking up a few things. I see you with another one of those drinks on campus again, and you’ll find you’ll be removing it from places you didn’t know you had, son. You get me?”
Karofsky whimpered a yes and Neal let him go. He rejoined his friends, who, being the cowards they were, had done nothing to aid him. Neal straightened out his jacket and watched them regroup and slink away. He noted with disgust that a small amount of the sugary drink had landed on the tip of his shoe. He pulled out a handkerchief and bent to wipe it off.
When he stood, he saw Artie and Kurt standing nearby among a knot of students who’d been attracted by the commotion. Both of them had their mouths hanging open, and expressions of utter awe on their faces. “You just took down Karofsky,” Artie said, his eyes shining with admiration.
Neal knew that look - the next step would be hero worship, and he was having none of it. “I did what I had to do.” He continued down the hall and the two boys fell into step with him, Kurt pushing Artie in front of him. Both were eager to grill Neal on how he’d done it and where he’d learned how to move like that.
“Karofsky’s been on my back all semester,” Kurt said. “You’ve got to teach me how to do that!”
“No,” Neal answered.
“What?” both boys said in unison.
Neal stopped walking and faced them both. “I mean, I could show you the moves, and you’d even become really good at them. I’m a great teacher. But that’s not half of what it takes to defend against a jerk like Karofsky.”
“It sure looked like enough,” Artie said with a disappointed pout.
Neal smiled kindly. “No. Not by a long shot. You see, in order to do what I just did, you have to be prepared to actually hurt someone. You have to be willing to follow through. A threat of violence is rarely effective unless there’s actual intent behind it. I would not have bested The Thing back there unless I had every intention of breaking his arm. And believe me, I had every intention of breaking his arm if it became necessary. You guys don’t seem like the types to be able to pull it off, I’m happy to say, and I hope you never have to.”
“I think I could, Neal,” Kurt said quietly. “I’m at the point where I really think I could.”
Neal took a step forward and put a hand on Kurt’s shoulder, looking intently into the teen’s eyes. “I pray you don’t, Kurt. It’s a hard thing to realize you’ve got the capacity inside yourself to harm another person. If you do, then what you do with it will ultimately decide the type of man you become. But most people don’t have it. They pretend to, like that moose Karofsky, but they don’t, not really. Can you honestly tell me you have it?”
Kurt stared into Neal’s eyes for several seconds, and when he blinked, there were tears in them. “I suppose I don’t.”
Neal squeezed his shoulder reassuringly and then stepped back. “But there are other things I can teach you, ways to defuse a situation. Meet me after Glee this afternoon, and I’ll teach you the art of the misdirect.”
Kurt and Artie both smiled in anticipation.
----
Love Yourself Before You Love Another
There were several minutes to go before class started, and Neal sat alone in the choir room, checking his emails on his Blackberry. He’d received a picture from Elizabeth of Satchmo playing with the new McKinley Frisbee he’d sent, and several cryptic messages from Moz he was sure probably added up to giving him shit about coming here, only in code. He sighed when he saw no note from Peter. That was ok, he told himself, they were probably just really busy at the office.
He looked up as someone took the seat next to him. Santana Lopez sat sideways in the chair, back straight as she leaned forward, pressing her knee between both of his, a hungry expression on her face he surmised must be her sexy look. He had to admit that it worked on her. She had her Cheerios uniform on, exposing a long length of shapely thigh, and oh, if only she weren’t 16.
He pushed her leg away and said, “Hello, JB.” JB stood for jailbait, of course, his name for her ever since she’d cornered him in the boys’ locker room his second week at the school. He’d just come from the shower, and it was all he could do to keep her hands off of him and his towel around his waist.
She was undeterred, and rested her hand on his knee. “I’ve decided older guys are it for me. There’s a level of sophistication there that these high school boys can’t match.” She licked her lips.
Neal picked up her hand and placed it on her own knee. “Consider the operative word in that sentence,” he told her with a charming smile. “I’m literally twice your age.”
“Then you can rent a hotel room with no problem,” she said, not giving up at all.
He regarded her carefully, considering his next words. “Santana, you do come on strong, don’t you?”
“It’s how I roll.”
He nodded. “So I’ve seen. And heard. You’ve got quite the reputation around the school.”
She sat up straight, a flash of anger marring her beautiful face. “Who’s talking? What are they saying? I’ma bust some ass!”
He placed a calming hand on her wrist. “Don’t even pretend it’s a shock to you. Word gets around. It makes me wonder why, though. A beautiful girl like you should respect herself more. There’s nothing more sexy than that, you know.”
“You can keep your After School Special psychology to yourself, Neal, and ask yourself why a 32-year old man finds it necessary to hang out with teenagers,” Santana scoffed, and began to stand.
Neal held onto her wrist and made her sit back down. “You’re better at deflecting than me, and that’s saying something. Tell me something, Santana, why do you hate yourself?”
What happened next surprised Neal thoroughly. He expected her to rage, to level him with yet another of her cutting insults, or even to punch him somewhere sensitive. He did not expect her to start crying. He pulled the handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her, and inched closer to put an arm around her trembling shoulders. “Shh, shh,” he soothed. “It’s OK, it’ll all be ok.”
“No, it won’t,” she sobbed prettily. “I’m so unhappy.”
He squeezed her shoulder comfortingly and made more shushing sounds. “Tell me about it. It’ll help to talk.”
She dried the tears from her face, but couldn’t look at him as she made her confession. “I’m in love with my best friend,” she whispered, and began to cry again.
Finally, Neal understood her acting out, because he related to it completely. “I know it’s hard, Santana. Having these feelings you don’t really understand, being different from everyone. I get it, I’ve been there.”
She looked up at him, eyes widening. “You’re a homo too?”
He blinked; she was nothing if not direct. “Well, I’m bi, actually. But my point is that you’re not the only person to feel this way, and you don’t have to be alone in this. There are groups you can join, people you can talk to. Kurt. Me. We can support each other.”
“I am so not ready to take a ride on the rainbow float, Neal.”
“And I’m not telling you that you ever have to. But it seems to me that denying who you are and these feelings you have is just making you unhappy, making you hate yourself, and that’s just wrong.”
“What am I supposed to do?” she asked, blowing her nose in his handkerchief noisily.
“I think you need to pay a little attention to yourself. My mom taught me that if you can love yourself unconditionally, then others can’t help but love you too. It was a hard lesson for me to learn at the time, and it’s one I struggle with even now.”
“You?” she sniffed. “But you’re so hot.”
He smiled. “I’m glad you think so. But it’s actually part of the reason I’ve come back here. Back home, there’s a man I’m in love with, and I’m not so sure his feelings are the same as mine. It’s great when we’re together, but he’s -“ Neal’s expression was far away, wistful. He shook himself, as if he’d revealed too much. “Well, it’s complicated. And one of the things that complicates it is in my head.” He tapped his forefinger on his temple for emphasis.
Neal continued, “The fact that I never graduated from high school had never been important to me before I met this person, but now it is. It’s like I feel I’m not good enough or smart enough to deserve to be with him.”
“Neal, that’s not true,” Santana said frankly, an earnest expression on her face that made her look every one of her 16 years. “If he doesn’t see that, then he’s not good enough for you.”
He smiled. “Thank you, but I’m the one who needs to be convinced of that, I think. I’ve got to prove it to myself before I can prove it to him. And this is the first step, coming back to McKinley. Am I making any sense?”
She nodded.
“And do you think you can work on that part for yourself too?”
She smiled. “I can try.”
“It’s all I can ask of you. And I’ll try too.” She tried to hand back his handkerchief and he gestured for her to keep it.
By now, some of the other students had arrived, and they both turned to face the room. Neal caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and he reached a hand out to grab Santana’s wrist; her hand had been creeping up her own thigh. “When I said you should love yourself, I meant the self-esteem kind, JB. You got that, right?”
“I know,” she said with a wicked grin. “Just kidding.”
----
It’s All in the Wrist
Neal headed for his gym locker, annoyed with himself for having forgotten his keys there. It was late afternoon, and he’d have preferred to be on his way by now. As he went to leave, he heard a strange scratching coming from the far side of the room. He went to investigate and found Noah Puckerman kneeling down in front of Coach Bieste’s office door, trying to force the lock.
“What are you using, a RoboPick?” Neal commented.
Puck jumped, looked over at him with a guilty expression. “Coach Bieste took my cell phone. If I lose another one, my mom’s going to kill me.”
Neal sighed and took a step forward. He moved Puck out of the way with an arm. “Well, don’t use one of those, they’re about as subtle as a battering ram. Let me.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a leather case. Unzipping it, he pulled out two stainless steel lockpicks, which he inserted into the door. The lock gave way within seconds of his skilled ministrations, leaving no trace of forced entry. Neal removed the picks, gesturing at the door for Puck to enter.
Two minutes later, Puck returned, shoving his cell into his jeans pocket.
“Well, lock it up again,” Neal admonished. “Don’t want to let her know anyone was here.”
Puck complied. “Thanks, Neal,” he said gratefully. Neal turned to leave. “Hey Neal?”
“Hmm?”
“Is it true what everyone is saying - that you’re some sort of badass international criminal mastermind?”
Neal raised an eyebrow, wondering at the evolution of high school rumors. “Hardly.”
“You think you could give me some pointers?”
“No.”
“Well then, how about how to use those lockpicks? They look like they’d come in handy.”
“Becoming the Fagin of Lima, OH was not a goal of mine, Puck. Besides, didn’t I hear you just got out of Juvey? Why would you want to tempt fate and risk going back there? I’ll be honest with you, you lack the wit to make a good con.”
“Well, what I lack in smarts I more than make up for in sheer bravado,” Puck said with a smile.
Neal laughed, wondering how he’d managed to use the word ‘bravado’ properly. “Answer’s still no. But if you’re good and stay in school, maybe I’ll teach you a few card tricks.”
“That’d be awesome.”
Neal just shook his head. He had no intention of doing it. Or maybe he did - who knew? Life around these parts was more boring than he’d remembered. He needed a hobby.
----
Live Your Truth
Neal sat in homeroom, scrolling listlessly through emails on his Blackberry, looking for something he knew wasn’t there - a note from Peter. He’d been back in Lima for over a month now, and had had almost no communication from him. And while his days were busy, his nights were long and lonely, and he felt Peter’s silence acutely. He didn’t want to read too much into it - Peter was laconic at the most, terse at the least. He didn’t expect daily barrages of texts or flowery language, but the lack of even a “How ya doin’?” message hurt more than he was willing to admit.
“Neal?” the teacher said, approaching him. He looked up, expectantly. “Miss Pillsbury would like to see you in her office.” He handed Neal a note and a hall pass and returned to the front of the room.
“Have a seat,” Emma invited, gesturing to the ones aligned in front of her desk. She couldn’t suppress a frown when he pulled it out and over, at an angle. Angles weren’t good. She forced herself to ignore it and began. “Neal, I wanted to talk with you about something important.”
He looked at her expectantly and she took a deep breath. “I’m not sure if you even realize this, but I’ve noticed something lately. A lot of the children seem to be idolizing you.”
Neal was taken aback. Aside from a sudden fad among the kids at the school for wearing fedoras, he had no idea he’d made any kind of impact, and he told her so.
“Be that as it may, your presence here has had an effect, and I’m not so sure it’s one you ever intended. Yesterday, I overheard Noah Puckerman say he planned to ‘Caffrey’ his way into a nightclub, and last week, Kurt and Mercedes were discussing plans for conning their way across the south of France.”
“That’s not as easy as it sounds,” Neal offered, and she gave him a look.
“I like you, Neal, and I admire what you’re trying to do by coming back to school, but if your being here jeopardizes the children in any way, then I’m afraid this arrangement won’t work out,” Emma finished, her eyes wide and sincere, but her meaning clear.
Neal took a deep breath. “I want you to know that I understand you completely,” he began. “I would never do anything to encourage these kids to follow the path I’ve taken, or to glamorize it in any way.”
“I didn’t mean to imply that you had.”
He held up a hand. “I know, and thank you for believing that I wouldn’t, Emma. I didn’t think many people around here would give me the benefit of any doubts, and you have, and it means something. Because I am here for the right reasons, to finish something I couldn’t when I was younger, and I’ve been so lucky to have found friends and the Glee club, and I don’t want to harm any of that.
“I have a friend back home in New York named Hale, and he used to always say this one thing to me. ‘Live your truth, Neal,’ he’d say, ‘because if you’re not true to yourself, who’s ever gonna believe in you?’ And it’s a lesson that’s a little hard for a conman to come to terms with, but it’s something I strive for every day.”
“It’s a beautiful sentiment.”
Neal’s eyes twinkled. “Well, then he undercut me on an antique coin deal I had going, but you know, whatever.”
Emma gave him a slightly disapproving look.
“Anyway, so I think maybe I need to live the truth of a reformed ex-con and share some of my own lessons with these kids. Do you think it would help if I talked to them?”
She nodded. “I do.”
“I’ll do it this afternoon.”
He got up to leave, reaching his hand out to shake hers. He noticed her eyes weren’t on him as she rose, and he followed her gaze out into the hallway beyond the glass walls of her office. Will Schuester walked by, and gave her a little wave as he went on his way. Neal noticed her coloring a little when she took his hand and began to shake it.
“Speaking of living your truth, does Will know about your feelings for him?”
“Why, whatever do you mean?” she tried to lie.
“Don’t con a con. It’s pretty obvious to anyone with eyes that you’re in love with him.”
She sighed, and looked at him sadly. “And he maybe loves me, Neal, but it’s complicated.”
“It always is, Emma. But take my advice, because life’s really too short.” He had a wistful look on his face as he continued, “You need to go after love wherever it finds you, because you never know how long it’ll be there. Live your truth, Emma.”
“I’ll try,” she said, smiling, and he bent over to retrieve his bag. “But before you go -“ Emma added. Neal turned back, eyebrows raised. “Did you really steal Edvard Munch’s The Scream and sell three copies to buyers around the world?”
“Five,” he corrected, smiling. “Allegedly.”
“That does sound kind of cool,” she laughed.
He only waggled his eyebrows, smiled and left.
----
Can You Live with the Consequences?
Will Schuester called the class to order, and the kids all took their seats, looking at him expectantly.
He wrote one word on the whiteboard: Lessons.
“This week’s assignment has been suggested by one of your classmates, and it’s a really important one. But I think it’d be better if he explained it to you himself. Neal - would you like to begin?” Will waved Neal to the front of the class with a hand, and the kids applauded politely for him as he made his way to the front of the room.
“I have heard through the grapevine that certain of the more…romantic…aspects of my life history have been making the rounds at the school, and may be influencing some of you.” He noticed with interest how Kurt’s cheeks colored slightly, and Puck wouldn’t look at him. He smirked. “And I’m embarrassed to say it was more flattering than it really ought to have been, let me tell you.”
The class laughed and Neal glanced over at Will, who gave him a stern look (though he thought he detected a slight upturn to his mouth - he wasn’t sure). “Anyway, then I thought about it and I realized I needed to tell you all something.” He bent over and took a file folder out of his bag, removed a photograph from it - his own mug shot - and held it up for all to see. “I am not a role model,” he said loudly.
“Now, I know that a lot of you have heard things about me. Maybe you’ve Googled me or some of my aliases, learned about some of the things I’m supposed to have done, like breaking into the papal quarters at the Vatican - not true! - or forging certain high profile artworks. And while on the surface it all seems really glamorous and cool, you all have to remember one thing: I got caught. I went to prison. I lost the woman I loved, and people got hurt, all because of those ‘glamorous, cool’ things I did.”
He paused, let the emotion behind his words sink in with his audience. “And so the lesson I’m here to teach you all is this: make sure you can live with the consequences of what you do. If I had known the effect my actions would have on the people close to me, we might not be having this conversation, because I’d be a car salesman or something. I’ve got a lot of regrets, and if I can save just one of you a fraction of the pain I’ve seen - and caused - then maybe they’ll at least add up to something.”
The room was quiet when he finished talking, the kids taking in all that he had said, understanding suddenly dawning for most of them.
Will cleared his throat, cutting the silence. “So that’s the theme for this week, class - present us with a song that has taught you an important lesson, or that represents a lesson you have learned, like Neal here. Neal, do you have a song prepared to illustrate this week’s assignment?” Will’s tone was leading.
Neal seemed to shake himself and smiled. “I do.”
He walked over to Puck and asked to borrow his guitar, went back to the front of the room, and sat down on the stool that was there. “This song means a lot to me, because it represents something that not a lot of men in my position get in life: a second chance. So, it’s for the person who’s given me that.”
Neal began to play a low tempo melody. Then he began to sing:
“Old pirates, yes, they rob I; sold I to the merchant ships. Minutes after they took I from the bottomless pit. But my hand was made strong by the hand of the Almighty. We forward in this generation triumphantly.
“Won't you help to sing these songs of freedom? 'Cause all I ever have, redemption songs. Redemption songs.”
He continued to play the melody, and looked over at Will, saw him grooving to the music, a smile on his face. Neal nodded to him, and Will sang the next verse:
“Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery; none but ourselves can free our minds. Have no fear for atomic energy, 'cause none of them can stop the time. How long shall they kill our prophets, while we stand aside and look? Some say it's just a part of it: we've got to fulfill the Book.”
Before Neal knew it, he was surrounded by the class, and they joined in on the chorus,
“Won't you help to sing these songs of freedom? 'Cause all I ever have, redemption songs, redemption songs, redemption songs.”
Neal closed his eyes and sang the chorus again, alone, “Won't you help to sing these songs of freedom? 'Cause all I ever have, redemption songs. 'Cause all I ever have, redemption songs, redemption songs.”
He finished, the last notes of the guitar echoing along with his voice, the room completely quiet as all present contemplated the meaning of the song’s lyrics.
But a few seconds later, there was the sound of a pair of hands clapping. Neal turned with everyone to see who it was and received the most welcome surprise he’d had in a long time.
“Peter!”
----
Epilogue
“What are you doing here?” Neal asked Peter. He was happy to see him, and it took nearly all of his self control to stop himself from throwing his arms around Peter’s neck.
“I’m consulting on a case in the Cincinnati field office. Something right up your alley, actually. Thought you’d like a break or something.” He smiled, brown eyes twinkling. He was happy to see Neal too.
Neal took him by the arm and led him to an empty classroom nearby. He paused to make sure the door was closed, and when he turned to speak, Peter’s arms were around him, and they were kissing. Neal felt himself nearly melt against Peter; the strong, warm feel of his arms around him again was almost intoxicating. It felt like home, and he suddenly realized how very much he had missed it - more than he’d thought.
Neal broke the kiss and leaned his head against Peter’s shoulder, sighing contentedly. Peter reached his hand up and stroked Neal’s hair. “You know, you can be a role model, Neal,” he said quietly.
Neal looked up at him. “You heard that?”
“I did. And you’re wrong. You demonstrate every day that you’re capable of good things. You can and should be a role model.”
“Thanks, but, let’s get me off parole before we make that determination.”
“If you say so,” Peter said, not wanting to have this conversation again. It seemed he had to remind Neal of his worth all too often. “You sang beautifully,” he added.
Neal’s cheeks turned a rosy pink. “Yeah, it’s this thing I used to do when I went here. I kind of fell right back into it.”
“I like it. El would be so proud.”
Neal’s face lit up at the mention of her name. “How is she?”
“She’s well. Let me take you to dinner tonight, and we’ll catch up. They got any good restaurants in this town?”
“Well, there’s something called Breadstix. It’s appalling, but at least they have a liquor license.”
“Sounds acceptable. Think you can leave school early? Don’t want to earn you a detention or anything.”
Neal gave him a look. “This is my last class of the day. I’m sure my teacher will understand.”
Neal returned to the classroom to retrieve his bag and hat. Santana caught his eye, a question in her eyes. He glanced back at Peter and then back at her, nodded in answer. She gave him two thumbs up.
“What was that all about?” Peter asked as they left the classroom.
“Nothing. Just an After School Special in progress.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.”
----
Thank you for your time.
A/N: The song Neal sings is “Redemption Song” by Bob Marley.