Fic: Could’ve Been Worse Than You Would Ever Know
Title: Could’ve Been Worse Than You Would Ever Know
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Neal, Peter, Moz, Keller
Spoilers: On the Fence
Content Notice: Death of major character…with a twist.
Word Count: ~1500
Summary: Alternative ending for the episode, the season, the show…
A/N: Title is a lyric from the song “Dashboard” by Modest Mouse. Also fills the "forced to rely on enemy" square on my HC Bingo card
----
Peter couldn’t quash the feeling of dread as he took the stairs to Raquel’s loft two at a time. The audio loop on the surveillance was alarming - and not outside Keller’s skillset. He didn’t want to think… Suddenly, there was a gunshot.
“Shots fired!” Peter called out, and if his adrenaline wasn’t pumping yet, it was now. Neal.
He banged on the door. “FBI! Open up!”
“It’s locked,” Jones said.
“It’s reinforced steel, we’ll never kick it in,” Diana observed. Jones turned aside and radioed for someone to bring the battering ram.
“Neal!” Peter called, banging on the door. There was no answer, no sound from inside. Fuck. “Neal!”
It took fully five minutes to lug the ram up the steps and eight hits for it to finally pop the door’s locks out. Each bang echoed in Peter’s head like the tolling of a great bell. Peter was first through the door and before he took a second step, he knew it was too late.
The coppery scent of blood hung heavy in the space, and Neal lay on his back on the floor near the worktable at the far end of the room, unmoving. The pool of blood that spread out around his shoulders resembled angel’s wings. The sight brought Peter up short and he just stood there at the door while the rest of the agents rushed into the room, searching for the gunman, making sure all was secure.
Diana rushed over to Neal, fell into a slide on her knees and felt for a pulse at his neck, then his wrist. “Neal? Neal!” she cried, her voice strangled. She leaned over him, her face next to his lips, to try to see if he was breathing, to ascertain any sign of life. “Neal…Neal, Neal, Neal,” she wept, covering her mouth with her hand.
----
Peter stood in the same spot, watching the coroners zip Neal into a body bag and load him onto a stretcher. Shot through the heart, the paramedics had said when they’d pronounced. Died instantly, they added. Peter only nodded.
They handed him a clipboard with a form to sign. He did it and handed it back. They said they’d perform the autopsy in the morning and give a full report. Peter nodded.
No sign of Keller on the streets, Jones told him, nor of Raquel. Peter nodded.
Diana, puffy-eyed, took him by the arm, told him they had to be going now, let the CSU techs do their job. Peter nodded and let her lead him away.
Then he stopped. He shook his head. “No,” he said, his first words in nearly an hour.
“Come on, Peter, we’ve got an investigation to run,” she said, her voice kind.
“No. No-no-no-noooo!” His own tears were finally coming. “No!” he sobbed and sank to the floor, head in his hands as his grief overtook him.
----
Peter stood uneasily at the foot of the stairs in June’s living room. June was not home, but the housekeeper had told him Mozzie was upstairs, and Peter dreaded what he had to do now. He loosened his tie and mounted the stairs, each step feeling like he was advancing toward his doom.
“Neal?” Moz called through the door after Peter’s knock. “Why are you knocking at your own door?” he chided as he swung it open. He took in Peter’s disheveled state with a glance. “Suit,” he said uneasily.
“He’s dead,” Peter whispered. There was no easy way to say it, so he just did.
Moz blinked. “What?”
“Neal is dead. We think it was Keller.”
Moz nodded, removed his glasses, began to clean them on the tail of his shirt.
“He, um, he was shot. They told me he died instantly.”
Moz put his glasses back on and nodded again, took a deep breath. “Get out.”
“Moz -“
“This is your doing. Go.”
“I -“
Moz closed the door in his face.
----
Peter stood in the doorway of his bedroom, watching his wife sleep, the book open near her hand. He watched her for a full five minutes before she sighed, shifted where she lay. He walked in quietly and replaced the bookmark for her, closed the book and set it on the nightstand. Despite his best intentions, his movements woke her.
“Hi,” she greeted him with a smile. “Did you catch any bad guys today?”
Peter sat on the edge of the bed and lay his head on her stomach, holding her tightly. She noticed he was trembling, sat up and took him into her arms. “Hon? What is it?”
Peter sobbed, burying his face in her chest. And Elizabeth suddenly knew - she knew that what they’d always feared but never, ever discussed had actually happened.
“How did it happen?” she asked, her voice steadier than she’d thought it would have been.
“Matthew Keller,” was all he could say.
Elizabeth stiffened at the mention of that name, and Peter held her closer. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but everything just went so fast and then the case just spiraled out of control, and -“
“Shh, baby. Shh.” Elizabeth held him, petting his hair, pressing cool lips against his brow.
She didn’t say everything would be OK. Because it wouldn’t - things would never be the same again.
----
Moz placed the Degas in the crate with the Van Dyke and nailed the lid on. He sighed heavily. It wouldn’t take him long to pack everything back up, but he would need help loading it into the truck. As if on cue, he heard the inner door slam shut and turned to greet the newcomer.
“Holy shit, it’s really real,” Keller said, picking up a platter and looking at the markings on the bottom. “Pre-Restoration silver? Very nice.”
“And half of it’s yours, as we agreed.”
“I can’t believe you made a deal with this asshole, Moz,” Neal said, stepping into full view. He’d discarded his jacket in the OCME van out back, but the entire top half of him was stained with pig’s blood. He was incensed, clearly, but Moz dismissed it.
“A necessary evil. All in all, a quarter of a billion isn’t a bad score for either of us.”
“You should have told me what you had planned. You should have-“
“That’s the curare talking,” Moz said. “You should sit down.”
Neal sat and Moz busied himself packing up a few more of the smaller paintings, Neal still glaring at him. “I still can’t even believe you dosed me!” Neal said, wiping sweat out of his eyes. The effects of the poison were wearing off, but he looked like crap.
“There wasn’t time,” Moz said, trying to explain. “Besides, the way you’ve been waffling lately, I couldn’t afford to let you screw this up again.”
“Yeah, yeah, hash this out later, Lucy and Ethel. I already paid off the fake paramedics - you owe me twenty-five grand,” Keller said to Moz.
Moz tossed him a tiny Dalí. “Now we’re even.”
“You make arrangements for our transportation?”
“The plane leaves at 3:00 am. And we will never make it in time if you don’t help me pack this shit up tight. Now, help me with that bronze horse - it’s heavier than it looks.”
Keller moved to help. “No, it’s top heavy,” Moz advised. “Hold it up here, under its belly.” He moved in close to Keller and patted the statue’s flank.
Keller raised his arms and Moz pushed into him, pulling the 9mm pistol out from the waistband of his pants. Keller jumped back, his hands in the air.
Neal surged to his feet. “Moz!”
Keller laughed, but his eyes flashed angrily. “So this is where you take all the treasure and get off scot-free? And what, you leave me tied up here and make a call to Burke to come and get me when you two are safely out of the country?”
“No,” Moz said, his voice cold. “This is where I kill you, you son of a bitch. Hale was a friend, and he didn’t deserve to go out like that.”
“Moz!” Neal said, reaching for him.
But he was too late; Moz fired at Keller, once, the bullet penetrating his chest. He fell to the floor like a stone, unmoving.
“What have you done, Moz?”
“We need a body to be Neal Caffrey at the morgue, and he had it coming. Now, help me load this asshole into the coroner’s van. We’ve got a long night ahead of us.”
----
Thank you for your time.
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Neal, Peter, Moz, Keller
Spoilers: On the Fence
Content Notice: Death of major character…with a twist.
Word Count: ~1500
Summary: Alternative ending for the episode, the season, the show…
A/N: Title is a lyric from the song “Dashboard” by Modest Mouse. Also fills the "forced to rely on enemy" square on my HC Bingo card
----
Peter couldn’t quash the feeling of dread as he took the stairs to Raquel’s loft two at a time. The audio loop on the surveillance was alarming - and not outside Keller’s skillset. He didn’t want to think… Suddenly, there was a gunshot.
“Shots fired!” Peter called out, and if his adrenaline wasn’t pumping yet, it was now. Neal.
He banged on the door. “FBI! Open up!”
“It’s locked,” Jones said.
“It’s reinforced steel, we’ll never kick it in,” Diana observed. Jones turned aside and radioed for someone to bring the battering ram.
“Neal!” Peter called, banging on the door. There was no answer, no sound from inside. Fuck. “Neal!”
It took fully five minutes to lug the ram up the steps and eight hits for it to finally pop the door’s locks out. Each bang echoed in Peter’s head like the tolling of a great bell. Peter was first through the door and before he took a second step, he knew it was too late.
The coppery scent of blood hung heavy in the space, and Neal lay on his back on the floor near the worktable at the far end of the room, unmoving. The pool of blood that spread out around his shoulders resembled angel’s wings. The sight brought Peter up short and he just stood there at the door while the rest of the agents rushed into the room, searching for the gunman, making sure all was secure.
Diana rushed over to Neal, fell into a slide on her knees and felt for a pulse at his neck, then his wrist. “Neal? Neal!” she cried, her voice strangled. She leaned over him, her face next to his lips, to try to see if he was breathing, to ascertain any sign of life. “Neal…Neal, Neal, Neal,” she wept, covering her mouth with her hand.
----
Peter stood in the same spot, watching the coroners zip Neal into a body bag and load him onto a stretcher. Shot through the heart, the paramedics had said when they’d pronounced. Died instantly, they added. Peter only nodded.
They handed him a clipboard with a form to sign. He did it and handed it back. They said they’d perform the autopsy in the morning and give a full report. Peter nodded.
No sign of Keller on the streets, Jones told him, nor of Raquel. Peter nodded.
Diana, puffy-eyed, took him by the arm, told him they had to be going now, let the CSU techs do their job. Peter nodded and let her lead him away.
Then he stopped. He shook his head. “No,” he said, his first words in nearly an hour.
“Come on, Peter, we’ve got an investigation to run,” she said, her voice kind.
“No. No-no-no-noooo!” His own tears were finally coming. “No!” he sobbed and sank to the floor, head in his hands as his grief overtook him.
----
Peter stood uneasily at the foot of the stairs in June’s living room. June was not home, but the housekeeper had told him Mozzie was upstairs, and Peter dreaded what he had to do now. He loosened his tie and mounted the stairs, each step feeling like he was advancing toward his doom.
“Neal?” Moz called through the door after Peter’s knock. “Why are you knocking at your own door?” he chided as he swung it open. He took in Peter’s disheveled state with a glance. “Suit,” he said uneasily.
“He’s dead,” Peter whispered. There was no easy way to say it, so he just did.
Moz blinked. “What?”
“Neal is dead. We think it was Keller.”
Moz nodded, removed his glasses, began to clean them on the tail of his shirt.
“He, um, he was shot. They told me he died instantly.”
Moz put his glasses back on and nodded again, took a deep breath. “Get out.”
“Moz -“
“This is your doing. Go.”
“I -“
Moz closed the door in his face.
----
Peter stood in the doorway of his bedroom, watching his wife sleep, the book open near her hand. He watched her for a full five minutes before she sighed, shifted where she lay. He walked in quietly and replaced the bookmark for her, closed the book and set it on the nightstand. Despite his best intentions, his movements woke her.
“Hi,” she greeted him with a smile. “Did you catch any bad guys today?”
Peter sat on the edge of the bed and lay his head on her stomach, holding her tightly. She noticed he was trembling, sat up and took him into her arms. “Hon? What is it?”
Peter sobbed, burying his face in her chest. And Elizabeth suddenly knew - she knew that what they’d always feared but never, ever discussed had actually happened.
“How did it happen?” she asked, her voice steadier than she’d thought it would have been.
“Matthew Keller,” was all he could say.
Elizabeth stiffened at the mention of that name, and Peter held her closer. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but everything just went so fast and then the case just spiraled out of control, and -“
“Shh, baby. Shh.” Elizabeth held him, petting his hair, pressing cool lips against his brow.
She didn’t say everything would be OK. Because it wouldn’t - things would never be the same again.
----
Moz placed the Degas in the crate with the Van Dyke and nailed the lid on. He sighed heavily. It wouldn’t take him long to pack everything back up, but he would need help loading it into the truck. As if on cue, he heard the inner door slam shut and turned to greet the newcomer.
“Holy shit, it’s really real,” Keller said, picking up a platter and looking at the markings on the bottom. “Pre-Restoration silver? Very nice.”
“And half of it’s yours, as we agreed.”
“I can’t believe you made a deal with this asshole, Moz,” Neal said, stepping into full view. He’d discarded his jacket in the OCME van out back, but the entire top half of him was stained with pig’s blood. He was incensed, clearly, but Moz dismissed it.
“A necessary evil. All in all, a quarter of a billion isn’t a bad score for either of us.”
“You should have told me what you had planned. You should have-“
“That’s the curare talking,” Moz said. “You should sit down.”
Neal sat and Moz busied himself packing up a few more of the smaller paintings, Neal still glaring at him. “I still can’t even believe you dosed me!” Neal said, wiping sweat out of his eyes. The effects of the poison were wearing off, but he looked like crap.
“There wasn’t time,” Moz said, trying to explain. “Besides, the way you’ve been waffling lately, I couldn’t afford to let you screw this up again.”
“Yeah, yeah, hash this out later, Lucy and Ethel. I already paid off the fake paramedics - you owe me twenty-five grand,” Keller said to Moz.
Moz tossed him a tiny Dalí. “Now we’re even.”
“You make arrangements for our transportation?”
“The plane leaves at 3:00 am. And we will never make it in time if you don’t help me pack this shit up tight. Now, help me with that bronze horse - it’s heavier than it looks.”
Keller moved to help. “No, it’s top heavy,” Moz advised. “Hold it up here, under its belly.” He moved in close to Keller and patted the statue’s flank.
Keller raised his arms and Moz pushed into him, pulling the 9mm pistol out from the waistband of his pants. Keller jumped back, his hands in the air.
Neal surged to his feet. “Moz!”
Keller laughed, but his eyes flashed angrily. “So this is where you take all the treasure and get off scot-free? And what, you leave me tied up here and make a call to Burke to come and get me when you two are safely out of the country?”
“No,” Moz said, his voice cold. “This is where I kill you, you son of a bitch. Hale was a friend, and he didn’t deserve to go out like that.”
“Moz!” Neal said, reaching for him.
But he was too late; Moz fired at Keller, once, the bullet penetrating his chest. He fell to the floor like a stone, unmoving.
“What have you done, Moz?”
“We need a body to be Neal Caffrey at the morgue, and he had it coming. Now, help me load this asshole into the coroner’s van. We’ve got a long night ahead of us.”
----
Thank you for your time.