Fic: White Blank Page, Part 1
Title: White Blank Page, Part 1
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Pre-OT3 in one part; Neal/Peter in the other
Spoilers: None
Content Notice: Major character deaths, but there's a happy ending, I swear
Word Count: ~23,000 in total
Summary: White Collar Sliding Doors AU: What if Peter had gone corporate as he surmised in Company Man? A look at both realities. Fills the "theft" square on my H/C Bingo card
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
A/N: Ever seen the Gwyneth Paltrow movie Sliding Doors? In it, we see the events in a young woman’s life unfold based on whether or not she makes it onto a train on the London Underground. Does she catch her sketchy BF cheating on her or not? Does she find the love of her life or not?
The plot of Company Man got me to thinking a similar thing, and yes, this story’s been in development since that episode aired. Below is a look at two realities - one where Peter “went corporate,” and one that offers an alternative ending to the episode. Additional author’s notes at the end.
----
”Peter!” Neal said.
“What’s going on?”
“His heart’s stopped.”
Then there was blackness. Blankness. He had no thoughts in his head, just…nothing.
Followed by a searing pain in his chest as the paramedics jabbed a needle filled with epinephrine right into his heart. He yelled in pain and surprise, strained to sit up, but the medics held him down.
“Jesus, what the fuck!” Peter gasped, clutching at his chest, his eyes screwed shut. He felt a warm hand close over his - Neal’s.
“Thought we lost you,” he said. He looked on the verge of tears.
Peter had nothing to say - couldn’t if he wanted to. He laid his head back and tried to catch his breath as the paramedics wheeled him out to the street.
Kent was there, on a stretcher, looking as pale and sweaty as Peter felt. A junior agent cuffed him to his stretcher. “ What - what are you doing?” he said.
Peter fumbled for his badge with numb fingers. It was probably overkill, but he couldn’t resist the urge to tweak the smug bastard. “You confessed to a Federal agent. You’re under arrest for the murder of Joseph Hayes.”
“You can’t be serious!”
“You give me the facts, I’ll give you the law.” Diana waved to the agents and medics and Kent was wheeled away, out of Peter’s sight.
“Thanks, Di.” She shrugged and walked away.
“You’re not the only one who makes dumb decisions.” Neal said as he walked up, looking only slightly less worried than before. Peter had an unnatural urge to push that damn lock of hair that kept flopping into his eyes out of the way.
“Saving Kent?” he said instead.
“You’re taking this ‘innocent until proven guilty’ thing a little too far.”
Peter shook his head; would the kid ever get it? “If he lives or dies, it’s not my call.”
“Whose is it?”
“You do what’s right, you let the pieces fall where they fall.” He glanced up at the medics as they wheeled him over to the ambulance. When he looked back at Neal, he was watching him go, his brow creased - from worry or consternation, Peter wasn’t sure.
----
Peter woke to find his hospital room awash in sunlight. He blinked, momentarily disoriented.
“Hi, Hon.”
He turned his head to see Elizabeth sitting beside the bed, smiling at him cheerfully. “Hi, Hon.”
“How are you feeling?” She moved to his side and began to fuss with his pajamas, planted a kiss on his lips. He reveled in their softness - how close had he come to never experiencing that again? He shuddered to think of it.
“Chest still hurts. Tired. Otherwise, just peachy.”
“The doctor said if the tests come back normal, you’ll be able to go home tomorrow.”
“That will be a relief.”
“And he also said you’ll need to be on bed rest for at least a week.”
“Ow! A week? I’ve got cases out the wazoo!”
“Stop complaining, or I’ll make it two weeks.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a slight smile, and she kissed him again.
“Have you talked to Neal?” she said.
He shook his head. “Haven’t seen him since the other night.” El made a that’s strange face. “Something up?”
“I guess not, but he was hovering so closely the other night, I swear he was as worried about you as I was.”
“Neal? You’re not starting that whole thing again.”
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
“Honey, come on.”
“Tell me you don’t think he has feelings for you and I’ll leave it alone.”
“I hope he doesn’t have feelings for me.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean why? I’m a married man!”
“With a very understanding wife.”
“With a crazy wife. Come on, stop it.”
“Peter, you know I never want you to deny who or what you are. I knew you were bi the day I married you.”
“That doesn’t mean I’d step out on my wife.”
“It’s not stepping out if she comes with you.”
He gave her a Woman, please look. “You’re reading too much into this. Besides, whether I’m interested or not, it’d be doomed from the start. He works for me.”
“Well, that won’t last forever. I see how you are together. It’s good. You’re good together.”
“I’m better with you. Drop it, El, please.”
“Fine,” she said with a look on her face that he knew meant she hadn’t.
Peter picked up the TV remote, tuned to CNN and pretended to be interested in an interview with a World Bank economist, all the while thinking through what El had said. Truth be told, he had noticed the way Neal’s behavior had changed of late, but he’d chalked it up to their getting closer through working together, the fact Peter’d helped him through the aftermath of Kate’s death. Any attachment there was most certainly a byproduct of that. And as attractive as Neal was - not to mention how attractive the prospect of even the fantasy of being with him was - he refused to let it affect him. There really were too many complications to it.
As always, any thought of Neal lately brought with it a twinge of guilt for keeping music box a secret. He hated to think what Neal would do if he could get his hands on it, didn’t want to see how he’d react. The thing had cost him so much - what might he do to uncover its secrets?
No, keeping it from Neal was still the right thing to do, at least for the time being. Peter knew with certainty that he was protecting his partner.
----
Peter returned to work well-rested and thankful to be there. After over a week of forced inactivity, he’d been climbing the walls most days. And it wasn’t as if he could’ve done anything useful around the house, or even taken the dog for a run, because he was supposed to rest.
So many people stopped him to welcome him back to work, it took him a good fifteen minutes to make it up to his office. He moved around his desk, set his things down, caught a glimpse of the picture of Elizabeth he kept there, and smiled. Certainly it was the near-death experience, but lately he was feeling very sappy whenever he thought of his wife. He glanced up at the bullpen and saw the team milling around, caught sight of Neal coming through from the coffee room and felt the same sentimentality for them all. To think what he’d almost lost he thought, silently addressing El’s picture.
“Lookin’ good,” Neal said from the doorway a few minutes later, interrupting his thoughts.
“Feeling even better. I got a clean bill of health this morning.” Peter took a sip of coffee and grimaced. Man, the stuff the Bureau stocked really was horrid.
“You know, there’s a coffee shop a couple blocks away. I hear they make a pretty good espresso.”
“This tastes just fine to me,” Peter lied.
“Come on, you can’t tell me you don’t miss it. The imported beans. The giant office and swanky suite.”
Peter looked at him, his head cocked to the side. “All right, I’m gonna humor you for a second. What if I went corporate right after college? Best case scenario: I became a millionaire.”
“Sounds like a pretty good scenario.”
“Mmm. One with a flip side. What if I never joined the FBI?”
“Would’ve made my life a lot easier.”
Peter smirked. “Mine too. But what if, twelve years ago I was never assigned to an art gallery scam downtown? What if I never met this assistant manager?” He pointed at El’s picture. “No, there are more important things in life than a nice view.”
He looked up at Neal, saw the eagerness in his face, the way he was paying attention, and realized he didn’t like the idea of a life without his partner in his life either. His voice was suddenly thick with emotion. “Like having people in your life you care about. I don’t want to imagine the man I’d be without those people. I like the man I am.” He blinked back the sudden tears, but didn’t feel self-conscious about them. He knew Neal understood.
“Do what’s right,” Neal said, and Peter thought he heard a hint of bitterness. He blinked.
“Yeah.”
“You lied to me about the music box. I know you still have it.” There it was. A brief flicker of pain flashed through Neal’s eyes which he quickly suppressed. The fact that he had to suppress that hurt Peter more than he thought it would.
“How did you find out -“
“Mozzie found the sheet music. It wasn’t hard from there. You ready to talk about it?”
“If you’re ready to listen.”
“I want to see it.”
“Sure. Tonight. I’ll bring it by tonight.”
Neal nodded and left without another word. Peter watched him go a little sadly. He took another sip of his coffee and winced at its harshness. He’d gotten used to the high quality brew at Novice Systems pretty quickly - he wondered if he really could’ve been that guy.
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t thought about it over the course of the last two weeks. What if he had gone another route?
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX
ANOTHER ROUTE: JULY, 2001
“PETER BURKE? IS THAT - YES, IT IS YOU! It’s been an age, my man.” Jerry Rhinehart strode across the lobby to shake Peter’s hand.
“Jerry,” Peter greeted warmly, “how are you? It’s been too long! What are you up to?”
“I’m at this new startup downtown. Pharmaceuticalss - exciting, cool stuff. How about you?”
“Still in audit over at Arthur Andersen.”
“Oh yeah? How’s that working out for you?”
“Great. If I bill 90 hours a week, I’ll make partner in ten short years,” Peter said ruefully. “How’s your gig?”
“I tell ya, Peter, it’s fun, scary, exciting and maddening all at the same time. Meet me for a drink tonight and I’ll tell you all about it.”
Peter met with his old business school classmate and by the time dinner turned into brandies at a local cigar bar, Jerry had convinced him to take a job at his new company, Cogent Pharmaceuticals, as their CFO. The money was going to suck at first, but they’d found an investor who was willing to take a chance, and Peter would receive an equity stake in the company. Jerry had hooked up with a wunderkind molecular biologist out of Harvard who had been working on treatments for childhood leukemia.
The next three years were among the most exciting of Peter’s life, as he and Jerry built Cogent first into a boutique testing and research firm to pay the bills, while their products were in development. Peter’s pragmatism and instincts for good investment had them turning a profit by the end of their third year, while Jerry’s expert salesmanship and knack for PR garnered early buzz for the firm.
Those three years, and the three that followed, were also lonely ones for Peter, if he took the time to think about it, but the work was satisfying and challenging enough to distract.
Their initial product, Zolphecid, was fast-tracked for FDA approval and launched in the summer of 2005, making their IPO among the most anticipated of 2006. But by 2009, however, an inability to diversify their product line had led to talk that the bloom was off the rose for Cogent, and that it was an acquisition target for one of the multinationals.
No one felt this more keenly than Peter Burke, who fielded calls daily from investment bankers and journalists alike, looking to feel him out on the company’s “exit strategy.” But Peter and Jerry were holding out; The R&D team had isolated a string of proteins associated with HIV infections, and it meant the technology behind their drugs could be used beyond its original scope. It was their hope that it would be the breakthrough that would take the company to its next growth plateau. They had had success in the lab and were about to begin human testing, as soon as they got the necessary FDA approvals.
----
MAY, 2009
“Hey, I’m going to go talk to that financial reporter from MSNBC,” Jerry said to Peter.
The two had been invited to a fundraiser for a youth arts program that was being sponsored by Cogent’s investment bank at a gallery in SoHo. Jerry’s boyish good looks and easy-going personality got him lots of play with women, a fact he loved to gently rub in Peter’s face. For his part, Peter found Jerry's need to compete with him endlessly amusing, considering Peter took no time for any type of relationship; he found little joy in meaningless sexual conquests.
“If you can turn it into a feature story, let me know.” Peter watched him go, marveling at how Jerry was able to have the beautiful young woman eating out of his hand in a matter of minutes. He turned his attention to an installation of baled clothing in the middle of the floor, arranged in shades of white and blue, and shook his head in consternation - he had a very well-developed appreciation for art, but sometimes he wondered if the artists weren’t pulling a joke on all of them.
His phone buzzed, and Peter removed it from his pocket; he had it programmed to ping him every time there was a score in that night’s Yankees/Red Sox game. The Sox were closing the gap on the Yanks in the division race, and if he couldn’t be home to watch it, he’d at least know what was happening.
“So what’s the score?” a voice, smooth as velvet, said at his shoulder. Peter turned and encountered a young man with an easy smile looking at him.
“Sox just tied it,” Peter told him, frowning. “Bottom of the fifth.”
The man nodded and gave a knowing smile. “Who’s on the mound?”
“Chamberlain.”
The young man winced. “They’ve got to work on their middle relief.”
“You think?” Peter agreed, shaking his head with a smirk. “Didn’t expect to encounter a sports fan at one of these things,” he added, trying to make conversation. The young man was pleasant enough, handsome with dark hair swept back off his forehead, an open and appealing expression on his face.
“I have many interests,” he replied with a mischievous smile. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“OK, but I’m pretty sure they’re free,” Peter said, and immediately felt awkward. He’d gotten far in his life, but it was thanks to hard work and competence, not schmoozing, and he often felt foolish when he did it.
But the younger man laughed at Peter’s lame joke, putting him immediately at ease. “What are you having?”
“Bourbon.”
“Great, I’ll be right back. I’m Neal, by the way.”
He held his hand out and Peter shook it; Neal grasped onto Peter’s hand with both of his and squeezed warmly, a winning smile on his face. Peter found himself blushing as the young man walked away.
They passed the hour in pleasant conversation, touching on art, city politics, and finally circling back to baseball. For both men, it was a love affair with the game that began in childhood.
“I even played a little, in college,” Peter was saying. As usual, he was being modest about his accomplishments; he’d gone to Cornell on a baseball scholarship and had already been scouted by several clubs until a knee injury sidelined him.
“What position?”
“Pitcher.”
“Really? Starter?
Peter nodded. “Yeah, but it was not to be. I’m sure it was for the best, though, because look at me now.” He smiled ruefully and took another swig from his glass. “You don’t look like much of a baseball guy. You play?”
“Yeah, a bit when I was a kid, but not seriously. Football was more my game. I love baseball, though. Have since the ’86 Mets.”
“Game Six,” they both said together in that tone of admiration only a true fan would appreciate, and then laughed.
“I was at that game,” Neal said.
Peter laughed. “What were you, an infant?”
Neal grinned. “I was nine. My old man took me. I don’t think I’d ever heard anything as loud as the crowd when that ball got past Buckner.”
Peter was smiling too, and nodding. “I was there too. My uncle had box seats and let me come, even though I’m a Yankees fan.”
“Oh, that was big of him. That was some game.”
“Yeah, it really taught me something. I mean, no matter how far behind in the count you get, you’ve really just got to keep swinging away. You’ve got to take a chance on yourself, believe in yourself.” Peter realized he had zoned out a bit as he spoke. When he looked back at Neal, he was looking back at him thoughtfully.
Neal ducked his head. “Yeah, that and hope the first baseman makes the error of the century.”
Peter laughed. “Well, I suppose luck has a bit to do with it from time to time too. Hey, I see you’re on ‘E.’ Can I get you another drink?” Peter gestured over to the open bar.
“Thanks, but I’ve got to get going. Big meeting in the morning I’ve got to prep for. It was a real pleasure to meet you, Peter.” Neal held out his hand.
Peter shook the proffered hand warmly, a smile lighting up his face. “And you, Neal. And you.”
Neal left the party and Peter watched him go, momentarily happy to have made a connection with someone outside the office. He sighed, ordered another drink and went off in search of Jerry.
----
The next day, Peter sat in his office reviewing the quarterly financial statements when there was a knock at his door and his assistant Penny poked her head in. “Your 10:00 is here,” she told him.
He looked up, removed his glasses. “Is it that time already?” he asked. He always said that to her, and she always responded, “It is indeed.” It was their thing. She handed him the cup of espresso she’d brought for him and left.
Peter wandered over to his window and looked out over the river towards New Jersey, sipping thoughtfully. He turned when he heard a footfall behind him.
“Peter Burke, this is…” Penny was saying.
“Neal!” Peter finished for her.
“You know each other?” she said, mildly surprised.
Neal and Peter were shaking hands like old friends. “We met last night,” Neal filled her in.
“Well then, I’ll leave you both to it,” she said, depositing a tray of coffee and taking her leave.
Peter gestured for Neal to take a seat at the table and joined him. “So I guess you already knew who I was last night before we met?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Neal looked only slightly abashed. “I confess I did. I wanted to meet you before I met you, if you know what I mean. I find it makes business easier that way, when there’s a personal connection.”
Peter nodded, but still looked dubious. “I suppose I can give you points for creativity, and you sure did learn a lot about me that way. Do you feel it gave you an advantage?” Peter was slightly annoyed at having been played, but was willing to give an ambitious young man a break.
Neal had the grace to look uneasy. “That remains to be seen, I think, but when I learned you would be at that fundraiser, I really wanted to meet you off the clock, if you will. See what makes Peter Burke tick.”
“And what did you find?”
“Not what I expected.”
“And what did you expect?”
Neal smiled. “Boring, stuffed shirt, workaholic.”
Peter laughed. “My nieces would agree with you.”
“They’d be wrong. Look, I’m sorry if I offended you.”
Peter spread his hands. “No offense taken. What brings you here? What can Sterling-McCann do for me?”
Neal removed a notebook computer from his bag and fired up a PowerPoint presentation, laying out a proposal. When he was done, he said, “Our goal, Peter, is to align Cogent Pharmaceuticals with a collection of hand-picked investors who will be able to help the company grow to the next level. It’s no secret you guys are on the cusp of a great new treatment with Endomil -“
“Well, actually, it is a secret,” Peter interrupted him abruptly. “Where did you hear about it? We haven’t even turned our findings over to the FDA yet…”
Neal blinked, his face coloring. “I’m sorry. Have I overstepped? Arthur McCann told me he’d talked to Jerry Rhinehart, told me to put a proposal together -“
Peter sighed. Arthur McCann and Jerry were members of the same country club. “My friend Jerry needs to learn more about discretion, I think. But tell me why I should consider this now, anyway. It’s not like we’re hurting.”
“But if the drug’s approved, you’ll need to ramp up production pretty quickly, line up your supply chain, marketing. A secondary offering now will provide an influx of capital that will allow you to lease facilities sooner rather than later, with less of a debt load in the long run.”
“Perhaps,” Peter commented. “You have a printed proposal for me?”
Neal smiled, reached into his bag and removed a folder, which he held out. Peter’s fingertips accidentally brushed Neal’s knuckles as he reached for it, and they each felt the crack of a static shock. “Oh, I hope that doesn’t mean what I’ll find here is shocking?” Peter kidded.
“I always thought it was good luck,” Neal supplied with a smile.
Peter opened the folder, put on his glasses, and skipped to the last pages where the terms and figures were to be found. “Looks interesting…I’ll consider it.”
“Excellent. Can I schedule a follow-up for next week?”
Peter nodded and stood. “You can. Penny will take care of it.” He gestured for Neal to precede him to the door and walked him out, a hand on the young man’s shoulder, light, easy.
Just outside the door, Neal turned and extended his hand. “Thanks for your time today, Peter. Again, if my actions caused any offense…”
Peter shook his hand. “No, I don’t think so, Neal.”
Neal looked relieved.
“Though I’d say you were pretty far down in the count,” Peter said with a smile.
“How far?”
“Oh and two.”
Neal winced. “At least I didn’t go down looking.”
“That you did not.”
Peter watched as Neal went to Penny’s desk to schedule a follow up appointment, and then closed his door, a slight smile on his face. He poured himself a cup of coffee and returned to the window, staring out across the river again. He decided he quite liked Neal Caffrey; with his obvious intelligence and easy smile, there was something about him he found undeniably appealing. His sister always accused him of having a “type,” and Neal certainly filled the bill with his dark hair and ivory skin. But he quickly dismissed it. It had been a long time since Peter had been with anyone - man or woman - and if he and Neal’s company were going to enter into a deal out of this meeting, it would hardly be appropriate to pursue anything.
But if the mere thought of bright blue eyes and even, white teeth gave him a springier step through the rest of the day, he wasn’t going to beat himself up about it.
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX
PETER JOGGED UP THE STAIRS TO NEAL'S, THE MUSIC BOX IN A DUFFEL SLUNG OVER HIS SHOULDER, and a brown paper bag in his hand. Neal answered almost immediately after his knock, and Peter hoisted the bag. “I brought some of those soft pretzels you like.”
“You mean the soft pretzels you like?” Neal said with a smirk. He closed the door behind them and went to the fridge for a couple of beers as Peter headed for the table and removed the music box.
“Never thought I’d see that again,” Neal said quietly, his statement punctuated by a tsst as he cracked open one of the beers.
Peter set the box onto the table and accepted the beer Neal held out. They stood staring at the thing for an entire minute. Peter pulled out a chair and sat down. Neal joined him, his beer untouched between his feet. He sat stiffly, on the edge of his seat.
Peter tried to ignore it. “I didn’t tell you anything for your own protection,” he began. He had to explain, he had to. “I don’t know what you’re gonna do. And neither do you.”
“I know my options.”
Peter sighed. “Revenge or justice, right? Neal, as long as I’m involved, it’s gonna be the latter.” How else could he make him understand?
“What if justice isn’t good enough?” It was a serious question, which surprised Peter.
“It has to be. It will be.”
“What did you find?” Neal was eager to move forward; Peter got that.
“There’s a piece of the box that’s missing, right here. At first, I thought it was one of the cherubs that had broken off, but if you look more closely, it hasn’t broken off. It’s a keyhole, the missing piece is a key.”
Neal reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a tiny golden cherub, held it in front of him.
“Which you have,” Peter said. Of course he did.
Neal inserted the key into the box, but his eyes were on Peter’s. “No more secrets, Peter.”
Peter’s eyes on Neal’s were just as unwavering. “No more secrets.”
Neal turned the key and the remaining three cherubs turned in unison. Somewhere inside the box, Peter could hear a snick as an ancient lock opened for the first time in over fifty years. He reached out a hand and so did Neal, and together they opened the lid.
“What is it?” Peter said as they surveyed the item inside the hidden compartment.
“Looks like a second comb. Should we put it in? Listen to it?”
He looked at Neal like he was crazy. “Uh, hell yeah.” Peter watched as Neal removed the original comb with shaking hands, slotted the new one in and let it play.
“Not the prettiest tune,” Neal commented.
“What the hell does it mean?”
“Who says it means anything?” Neal said bitterly. He sat back in his chair and opened his own beer, took a swig and eyeballed it. “I need something stronger.” He rose and retrieved a bottle of single malt from a cabinet and poured himself two fingers.
Peter all but ignored him, listening to the box play its tune for a second and third time. It reminded him of something. Something he remembered reading in college in an Intro to Music Theory class he’d audited. As a math major, the measures and timing of musical composition was something he’d always found fascinating.
“I was at least expecting a treasure map or something useful in there,” Neal groused as he took his seat again.
“Shh,” Peter said, and listened to the thing for a fourth time.
“It’s another dead end, Peter,” Neal said angrily, knocking the thing closed.
“No, I don’t think so. I think it might be a code or something.” He explained how coded messages had been hidden within musical compositions since as far back as ancient Greece. “It’s usually music hidden in texts and art, but what if this one’s coded into the music itself?”
“A coded message? But what for?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. But it’s something, right?”
“I suppose.” He took a large sip of whisky. “Why can’t it ever be easy?”
“Nothing worthwhile was ever easy.”
“You’re saying that to a con man,” Neal pointed out with a smirk. “We make our living off of shortcuts and cheats.”
Peter shrugged. He had a point.
“I suppose we can have Moz take a look. If anyone can pull anything out of this, it’s him.”
Peter was reluctant to bring another person into this, but was forced to agree with Neal. “Should we call him?”
“He’s out of town. Incommunicado.”
Peter didn’t want to know what that meant. “When will he be back?”
“Two, three weeks.” Neal grabbed the bag of pretzels and tore a chunk off of one. He idly flicked off grains of salt with his thumbnail.
“Then I guess we wait,” Peter said, more disappointed than he thought he’d be. He drained his beer and set it on the table with a thunk.
“Want another?”
Peter indicated the whisky bottle. “I think I need something stronger.”
Neal got up and retrieved another glass, and Peter watched him move - that easy stride, his hips swaying as he walked.
“What?” Neal said, noticing Peter’s scrutiny as he poured.
Peter could feel his face coloring. “Nothing.”
“No secrets, remember?” Neal said, handing him his drink. When he did, their fingers touched and Peter felt his throat go dry.
Peter shook his head and downed his drink in one gulp. The whisky burned going down, its warmth spreading instantly outwards once it hit his stomach.
“So our agreement lasts for what, ten hours?” Neal asked, truly disappointed.
Fine. “El thinks you’re in love with me.”
It was Neal’s turn to blush. “She does?” His tone was flat, neutral.
He immediately wanted to take the words back, didn’t know what the hell he was thinking. Or if he was thinking. “Ha-ha. That El,” Peter began, trying to defuse the situation. As if either of them would believe it was a joke.
“She’s a pistol.” Neal said in an amused tone that Peter knew was anything but. He walked to the door and stood there with his hand on the knob, his shoulders hunched.
“You’re asking me to leave?”
“No. No, I’m leaving.”
Peter watched, open-mouthed, as Neal disappeared down the stairs, leaving the apartment door open in his wake. It wasn’t until he heard the front door open and close downstairs that Peter realized Neal wasn’t kidding, got to his feet and went after him.
He caught up to Neal, who appeared to be heading for the park. “Neal!” He paused but didn’t stop, forcing Peter to run. His chest burned from the exertion, and he silently damned that louse Kent yet again for the poison that had temporarily stolen his vitality. “You trying to give me a heart attack?” he called, and Neal stopped, turned to look at him with flashing eyes.
Peter was panting when he reached Neal. He stood with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. The lag in the conversation didn’t seem to lessen Neal’s apparent anger.
“Why would you say that to me?”
“Wh- I don’t know.”
“It’s not funny, Peter. It’s not something to be joked about.”
“I know.”
“You’re married. I would never -“ He stopped himself from talking and stalked away.
Peter strode after him, took him by the elbow, turned him. He was still angry, but there were tears in Neal’s eyes. “Please wait. We have to talk about this.”
Neal walked away again and Peter trotted to catch up. So they’d be doing this as a walk-and-talk. Fine. “There’s nothing to talk about,” Neal said to him when he realized Peter was following him.
“You honestly don’t believe that, do you?”
“I will amend my statement, then. There’s nothing I want to talk about.”
“Neal, it’s already out there.”
“And who put it out there? I don’t have to play along, Peter. I can’t believe you would do this.”
“Do what?”
“Mock me.”
That statement and the pain in Neal’s voice stopped Peter cold. “I would never do that.”
Neal made a dismissive gesture and increased his pace.
Fuck, fuck, FUCK! What the hell was I thinking? Peter set off after Neal again.
They entered the park and walked for several minutes, Peter some five paces behind Neal. He didn’t know what he could say to make it up, to make it right, but he didn’t want to leave this unresolved. Not tonight, not after their breakthrough with the music box.
“Christ, Neal, can you at least give me a chance to catch up?”
“No.”
“I wasn’t making fun of you. I didn’t know you really felt that way.”
“I find it hard to believe that you’d bring it up if that was the case.”
“OK, that was a lie.”
“Everything’s a lie with you lately.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Do want me to make a list?”
Grrr! “If it makes you stop walking.”
Neal only quickened his pace, which was easy since they were on a slight downward incline.
Neal said something Peter couldn’t hear. “What?”
“I said I can’t believe I made it so obvious. Some con man I am.”
“Well, El is kind of scary-intuitive. Nothing gets by her. She could be a CIA interrogator.”
Neal actually laughed, but kept going.
“Please, please, please let me explain.”
“I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”
“And I’d prefer it if we could just forget it happened, but that’s not an option.”
A slight beeping noise punctuated the night’s quiet and Neal slowed his pace, stopped. Relieved, Peter strode over to him and stood in front of him. “Thank you. Now, can we just talk about this?”
“I’m at the edge of my radius,” Neal said and started to walk back the way they’d come.
Peter acted fast and grabbed his arm. “Neal, please.”
“Please what? There’s nothing more to say.”
“You have feelings for me.”
He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Peter knew he wouldn’t lie, but it didn’t mean he’d admit it.
“What if I had feelings for you too?”
“Don’t even go there, Peter.”
“Why not?”
“You know why not. There are about a hundred reasons why not. And no good reason why.”
“There’s one reason why. Because you love me.”
Neal’s lower lip trembled and he closed his eyes. “That will never be enough. Don’t follow me.” He walked briskly back the way he’d come, leaving Peter standing on the path.
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX
On to Part 2
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Pre-OT3 in one part; Neal/Peter in the other
Spoilers: None
Content Notice: Major character deaths, but there's a happy ending, I swear
Word Count: ~23,000 in total
Summary: White Collar Sliding Doors AU: What if Peter had gone corporate as he surmised in Company Man? A look at both realities. Fills the "theft" square on my H/C Bingo card
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
A/N: Ever seen the Gwyneth Paltrow movie Sliding Doors? In it, we see the events in a young woman’s life unfold based on whether or not she makes it onto a train on the London Underground. Does she catch her sketchy BF cheating on her or not? Does she find the love of her life or not?
The plot of Company Man got me to thinking a similar thing, and yes, this story’s been in development since that episode aired. Below is a look at two realities - one where Peter “went corporate,” and one that offers an alternative ending to the episode. Additional author’s notes at the end.
----
”Peter!” Neal said.
“What’s going on?”
“His heart’s stopped.”
Then there was blackness. Blankness. He had no thoughts in his head, just…nothing.
Followed by a searing pain in his chest as the paramedics jabbed a needle filled with epinephrine right into his heart. He yelled in pain and surprise, strained to sit up, but the medics held him down.
“Jesus, what the fuck!” Peter gasped, clutching at his chest, his eyes screwed shut. He felt a warm hand close over his - Neal’s.
“Thought we lost you,” he said. He looked on the verge of tears.
Peter had nothing to say - couldn’t if he wanted to. He laid his head back and tried to catch his breath as the paramedics wheeled him out to the street.
Kent was there, on a stretcher, looking as pale and sweaty as Peter felt. A junior agent cuffed him to his stretcher. “ What - what are you doing?” he said.
Peter fumbled for his badge with numb fingers. It was probably overkill, but he couldn’t resist the urge to tweak the smug bastard. “You confessed to a Federal agent. You’re under arrest for the murder of Joseph Hayes.”
“You can’t be serious!”
“You give me the facts, I’ll give you the law.” Diana waved to the agents and medics and Kent was wheeled away, out of Peter’s sight.
“Thanks, Di.” She shrugged and walked away.
“You’re not the only one who makes dumb decisions.” Neal said as he walked up, looking only slightly less worried than before. Peter had an unnatural urge to push that damn lock of hair that kept flopping into his eyes out of the way.
“Saving Kent?” he said instead.
“You’re taking this ‘innocent until proven guilty’ thing a little too far.”
Peter shook his head; would the kid ever get it? “If he lives or dies, it’s not my call.”
“Whose is it?”
“You do what’s right, you let the pieces fall where they fall.” He glanced up at the medics as they wheeled him over to the ambulance. When he looked back at Neal, he was watching him go, his brow creased - from worry or consternation, Peter wasn’t sure.
----
Peter woke to find his hospital room awash in sunlight. He blinked, momentarily disoriented.
“Hi, Hon.”
He turned his head to see Elizabeth sitting beside the bed, smiling at him cheerfully. “Hi, Hon.”
“How are you feeling?” She moved to his side and began to fuss with his pajamas, planted a kiss on his lips. He reveled in their softness - how close had he come to never experiencing that again? He shuddered to think of it.
“Chest still hurts. Tired. Otherwise, just peachy.”
“The doctor said if the tests come back normal, you’ll be able to go home tomorrow.”
“That will be a relief.”
“And he also said you’ll need to be on bed rest for at least a week.”
“Ow! A week? I’ve got cases out the wazoo!”
“Stop complaining, or I’ll make it two weeks.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a slight smile, and she kissed him again.
“Have you talked to Neal?” she said.
He shook his head. “Haven’t seen him since the other night.” El made a that’s strange face. “Something up?”
“I guess not, but he was hovering so closely the other night, I swear he was as worried about you as I was.”
“Neal? You’re not starting that whole thing again.”
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
“Honey, come on.”
“Tell me you don’t think he has feelings for you and I’ll leave it alone.”
“I hope he doesn’t have feelings for me.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean why? I’m a married man!”
“With a very understanding wife.”
“With a crazy wife. Come on, stop it.”
“Peter, you know I never want you to deny who or what you are. I knew you were bi the day I married you.”
“That doesn’t mean I’d step out on my wife.”
“It’s not stepping out if she comes with you.”
He gave her a Woman, please look. “You’re reading too much into this. Besides, whether I’m interested or not, it’d be doomed from the start. He works for me.”
“Well, that won’t last forever. I see how you are together. It’s good. You’re good together.”
“I’m better with you. Drop it, El, please.”
“Fine,” she said with a look on her face that he knew meant she hadn’t.
Peter picked up the TV remote, tuned to CNN and pretended to be interested in an interview with a World Bank economist, all the while thinking through what El had said. Truth be told, he had noticed the way Neal’s behavior had changed of late, but he’d chalked it up to their getting closer through working together, the fact Peter’d helped him through the aftermath of Kate’s death. Any attachment there was most certainly a byproduct of that. And as attractive as Neal was - not to mention how attractive the prospect of even the fantasy of being with him was - he refused to let it affect him. There really were too many complications to it.
As always, any thought of Neal lately brought with it a twinge of guilt for keeping music box a secret. He hated to think what Neal would do if he could get his hands on it, didn’t want to see how he’d react. The thing had cost him so much - what might he do to uncover its secrets?
No, keeping it from Neal was still the right thing to do, at least for the time being. Peter knew with certainty that he was protecting his partner.
----
Peter returned to work well-rested and thankful to be there. After over a week of forced inactivity, he’d been climbing the walls most days. And it wasn’t as if he could’ve done anything useful around the house, or even taken the dog for a run, because he was supposed to rest.
So many people stopped him to welcome him back to work, it took him a good fifteen minutes to make it up to his office. He moved around his desk, set his things down, caught a glimpse of the picture of Elizabeth he kept there, and smiled. Certainly it was the near-death experience, but lately he was feeling very sappy whenever he thought of his wife. He glanced up at the bullpen and saw the team milling around, caught sight of Neal coming through from the coffee room and felt the same sentimentality for them all. To think what he’d almost lost he thought, silently addressing El’s picture.
“Lookin’ good,” Neal said from the doorway a few minutes later, interrupting his thoughts.
“Feeling even better. I got a clean bill of health this morning.” Peter took a sip of coffee and grimaced. Man, the stuff the Bureau stocked really was horrid.
“You know, there’s a coffee shop a couple blocks away. I hear they make a pretty good espresso.”
“This tastes just fine to me,” Peter lied.
“Come on, you can’t tell me you don’t miss it. The imported beans. The giant office and swanky suite.”
Peter looked at him, his head cocked to the side. “All right, I’m gonna humor you for a second. What if I went corporate right after college? Best case scenario: I became a millionaire.”
“Sounds like a pretty good scenario.”
“Mmm. One with a flip side. What if I never joined the FBI?”
“Would’ve made my life a lot easier.”
Peter smirked. “Mine too. But what if, twelve years ago I was never assigned to an art gallery scam downtown? What if I never met this assistant manager?” He pointed at El’s picture. “No, there are more important things in life than a nice view.”
He looked up at Neal, saw the eagerness in his face, the way he was paying attention, and realized he didn’t like the idea of a life without his partner in his life either. His voice was suddenly thick with emotion. “Like having people in your life you care about. I don’t want to imagine the man I’d be without those people. I like the man I am.” He blinked back the sudden tears, but didn’t feel self-conscious about them. He knew Neal understood.
“Do what’s right,” Neal said, and Peter thought he heard a hint of bitterness. He blinked.
“Yeah.”
“You lied to me about the music box. I know you still have it.” There it was. A brief flicker of pain flashed through Neal’s eyes which he quickly suppressed. The fact that he had to suppress that hurt Peter more than he thought it would.
“How did you find out -“
“Mozzie found the sheet music. It wasn’t hard from there. You ready to talk about it?”
“If you’re ready to listen.”
“I want to see it.”
“Sure. Tonight. I’ll bring it by tonight.”
Neal nodded and left without another word. Peter watched him go a little sadly. He took another sip of his coffee and winced at its harshness. He’d gotten used to the high quality brew at Novice Systems pretty quickly - he wondered if he really could’ve been that guy.
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t thought about it over the course of the last two weeks. What if he had gone another route?
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX
ANOTHER ROUTE: JULY, 2001
“PETER BURKE? IS THAT - YES, IT IS YOU! It’s been an age, my man.” Jerry Rhinehart strode across the lobby to shake Peter’s hand.
“Jerry,” Peter greeted warmly, “how are you? It’s been too long! What are you up to?”
“I’m at this new startup downtown. Pharmaceuticalss - exciting, cool stuff. How about you?”
“Still in audit over at Arthur Andersen.”
“Oh yeah? How’s that working out for you?”
“Great. If I bill 90 hours a week, I’ll make partner in ten short years,” Peter said ruefully. “How’s your gig?”
“I tell ya, Peter, it’s fun, scary, exciting and maddening all at the same time. Meet me for a drink tonight and I’ll tell you all about it.”
Peter met with his old business school classmate and by the time dinner turned into brandies at a local cigar bar, Jerry had convinced him to take a job at his new company, Cogent Pharmaceuticals, as their CFO. The money was going to suck at first, but they’d found an investor who was willing to take a chance, and Peter would receive an equity stake in the company. Jerry had hooked up with a wunderkind molecular biologist out of Harvard who had been working on treatments for childhood leukemia.
The next three years were among the most exciting of Peter’s life, as he and Jerry built Cogent first into a boutique testing and research firm to pay the bills, while their products were in development. Peter’s pragmatism and instincts for good investment had them turning a profit by the end of their third year, while Jerry’s expert salesmanship and knack for PR garnered early buzz for the firm.
Those three years, and the three that followed, were also lonely ones for Peter, if he took the time to think about it, but the work was satisfying and challenging enough to distract.
Their initial product, Zolphecid, was fast-tracked for FDA approval and launched in the summer of 2005, making their IPO among the most anticipated of 2006. But by 2009, however, an inability to diversify their product line had led to talk that the bloom was off the rose for Cogent, and that it was an acquisition target for one of the multinationals.
No one felt this more keenly than Peter Burke, who fielded calls daily from investment bankers and journalists alike, looking to feel him out on the company’s “exit strategy.” But Peter and Jerry were holding out; The R&D team had isolated a string of proteins associated with HIV infections, and it meant the technology behind their drugs could be used beyond its original scope. It was their hope that it would be the breakthrough that would take the company to its next growth plateau. They had had success in the lab and were about to begin human testing, as soon as they got the necessary FDA approvals.
----
MAY, 2009
“Hey, I’m going to go talk to that financial reporter from MSNBC,” Jerry said to Peter.
The two had been invited to a fundraiser for a youth arts program that was being sponsored by Cogent’s investment bank at a gallery in SoHo. Jerry’s boyish good looks and easy-going personality got him lots of play with women, a fact he loved to gently rub in Peter’s face. For his part, Peter found Jerry's need to compete with him endlessly amusing, considering Peter took no time for any type of relationship; he found little joy in meaningless sexual conquests.
“If you can turn it into a feature story, let me know.” Peter watched him go, marveling at how Jerry was able to have the beautiful young woman eating out of his hand in a matter of minutes. He turned his attention to an installation of baled clothing in the middle of the floor, arranged in shades of white and blue, and shook his head in consternation - he had a very well-developed appreciation for art, but sometimes he wondered if the artists weren’t pulling a joke on all of them.
His phone buzzed, and Peter removed it from his pocket; he had it programmed to ping him every time there was a score in that night’s Yankees/Red Sox game. The Sox were closing the gap on the Yanks in the division race, and if he couldn’t be home to watch it, he’d at least know what was happening.
“So what’s the score?” a voice, smooth as velvet, said at his shoulder. Peter turned and encountered a young man with an easy smile looking at him.
“Sox just tied it,” Peter told him, frowning. “Bottom of the fifth.”
The man nodded and gave a knowing smile. “Who’s on the mound?”
“Chamberlain.”
The young man winced. “They’ve got to work on their middle relief.”
“You think?” Peter agreed, shaking his head with a smirk. “Didn’t expect to encounter a sports fan at one of these things,” he added, trying to make conversation. The young man was pleasant enough, handsome with dark hair swept back off his forehead, an open and appealing expression on his face.
“I have many interests,” he replied with a mischievous smile. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“OK, but I’m pretty sure they’re free,” Peter said, and immediately felt awkward. He’d gotten far in his life, but it was thanks to hard work and competence, not schmoozing, and he often felt foolish when he did it.
But the younger man laughed at Peter’s lame joke, putting him immediately at ease. “What are you having?”
“Bourbon.”
“Great, I’ll be right back. I’m Neal, by the way.”
He held his hand out and Peter shook it; Neal grasped onto Peter’s hand with both of his and squeezed warmly, a winning smile on his face. Peter found himself blushing as the young man walked away.
They passed the hour in pleasant conversation, touching on art, city politics, and finally circling back to baseball. For both men, it was a love affair with the game that began in childhood.
“I even played a little, in college,” Peter was saying. As usual, he was being modest about his accomplishments; he’d gone to Cornell on a baseball scholarship and had already been scouted by several clubs until a knee injury sidelined him.
“What position?”
“Pitcher.”
“Really? Starter?
Peter nodded. “Yeah, but it was not to be. I’m sure it was for the best, though, because look at me now.” He smiled ruefully and took another swig from his glass. “You don’t look like much of a baseball guy. You play?”
“Yeah, a bit when I was a kid, but not seriously. Football was more my game. I love baseball, though. Have since the ’86 Mets.”
“Game Six,” they both said together in that tone of admiration only a true fan would appreciate, and then laughed.
“I was at that game,” Neal said.
Peter laughed. “What were you, an infant?”
Neal grinned. “I was nine. My old man took me. I don’t think I’d ever heard anything as loud as the crowd when that ball got past Buckner.”
Peter was smiling too, and nodding. “I was there too. My uncle had box seats and let me come, even though I’m a Yankees fan.”
“Oh, that was big of him. That was some game.”
“Yeah, it really taught me something. I mean, no matter how far behind in the count you get, you’ve really just got to keep swinging away. You’ve got to take a chance on yourself, believe in yourself.” Peter realized he had zoned out a bit as he spoke. When he looked back at Neal, he was looking back at him thoughtfully.
Neal ducked his head. “Yeah, that and hope the first baseman makes the error of the century.”
Peter laughed. “Well, I suppose luck has a bit to do with it from time to time too. Hey, I see you’re on ‘E.’ Can I get you another drink?” Peter gestured over to the open bar.
“Thanks, but I’ve got to get going. Big meeting in the morning I’ve got to prep for. It was a real pleasure to meet you, Peter.” Neal held out his hand.
Peter shook the proffered hand warmly, a smile lighting up his face. “And you, Neal. And you.”
Neal left the party and Peter watched him go, momentarily happy to have made a connection with someone outside the office. He sighed, ordered another drink and went off in search of Jerry.
----
The next day, Peter sat in his office reviewing the quarterly financial statements when there was a knock at his door and his assistant Penny poked her head in. “Your 10:00 is here,” she told him.
He looked up, removed his glasses. “Is it that time already?” he asked. He always said that to her, and she always responded, “It is indeed.” It was their thing. She handed him the cup of espresso she’d brought for him and left.
Peter wandered over to his window and looked out over the river towards New Jersey, sipping thoughtfully. He turned when he heard a footfall behind him.
“Peter Burke, this is…” Penny was saying.
“Neal!” Peter finished for her.
“You know each other?” she said, mildly surprised.
Neal and Peter were shaking hands like old friends. “We met last night,” Neal filled her in.
“Well then, I’ll leave you both to it,” she said, depositing a tray of coffee and taking her leave.
Peter gestured for Neal to take a seat at the table and joined him. “So I guess you already knew who I was last night before we met?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Neal looked only slightly abashed. “I confess I did. I wanted to meet you before I met you, if you know what I mean. I find it makes business easier that way, when there’s a personal connection.”
Peter nodded, but still looked dubious. “I suppose I can give you points for creativity, and you sure did learn a lot about me that way. Do you feel it gave you an advantage?” Peter was slightly annoyed at having been played, but was willing to give an ambitious young man a break.
Neal had the grace to look uneasy. “That remains to be seen, I think, but when I learned you would be at that fundraiser, I really wanted to meet you off the clock, if you will. See what makes Peter Burke tick.”
“And what did you find?”
“Not what I expected.”
“And what did you expect?”
Neal smiled. “Boring, stuffed shirt, workaholic.”
Peter laughed. “My nieces would agree with you.”
“They’d be wrong. Look, I’m sorry if I offended you.”
Peter spread his hands. “No offense taken. What brings you here? What can Sterling-McCann do for me?”
Neal removed a notebook computer from his bag and fired up a PowerPoint presentation, laying out a proposal. When he was done, he said, “Our goal, Peter, is to align Cogent Pharmaceuticals with a collection of hand-picked investors who will be able to help the company grow to the next level. It’s no secret you guys are on the cusp of a great new treatment with Endomil -“
“Well, actually, it is a secret,” Peter interrupted him abruptly. “Where did you hear about it? We haven’t even turned our findings over to the FDA yet…”
Neal blinked, his face coloring. “I’m sorry. Have I overstepped? Arthur McCann told me he’d talked to Jerry Rhinehart, told me to put a proposal together -“
Peter sighed. Arthur McCann and Jerry were members of the same country club. “My friend Jerry needs to learn more about discretion, I think. But tell me why I should consider this now, anyway. It’s not like we’re hurting.”
“But if the drug’s approved, you’ll need to ramp up production pretty quickly, line up your supply chain, marketing. A secondary offering now will provide an influx of capital that will allow you to lease facilities sooner rather than later, with less of a debt load in the long run.”
“Perhaps,” Peter commented. “You have a printed proposal for me?”
Neal smiled, reached into his bag and removed a folder, which he held out. Peter’s fingertips accidentally brushed Neal’s knuckles as he reached for it, and they each felt the crack of a static shock. “Oh, I hope that doesn’t mean what I’ll find here is shocking?” Peter kidded.
“I always thought it was good luck,” Neal supplied with a smile.
Peter opened the folder, put on his glasses, and skipped to the last pages where the terms and figures were to be found. “Looks interesting…I’ll consider it.”
“Excellent. Can I schedule a follow-up for next week?”
Peter nodded and stood. “You can. Penny will take care of it.” He gestured for Neal to precede him to the door and walked him out, a hand on the young man’s shoulder, light, easy.
Just outside the door, Neal turned and extended his hand. “Thanks for your time today, Peter. Again, if my actions caused any offense…”
Peter shook his hand. “No, I don’t think so, Neal.”
Neal looked relieved.
“Though I’d say you were pretty far down in the count,” Peter said with a smile.
“How far?”
“Oh and two.”
Neal winced. “At least I didn’t go down looking.”
“That you did not.”
Peter watched as Neal went to Penny’s desk to schedule a follow up appointment, and then closed his door, a slight smile on his face. He poured himself a cup of coffee and returned to the window, staring out across the river again. He decided he quite liked Neal Caffrey; with his obvious intelligence and easy smile, there was something about him he found undeniably appealing. His sister always accused him of having a “type,” and Neal certainly filled the bill with his dark hair and ivory skin. But he quickly dismissed it. It had been a long time since Peter had been with anyone - man or woman - and if he and Neal’s company were going to enter into a deal out of this meeting, it would hardly be appropriate to pursue anything.
But if the mere thought of bright blue eyes and even, white teeth gave him a springier step through the rest of the day, he wasn’t going to beat himself up about it.
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX
PETER JOGGED UP THE STAIRS TO NEAL'S, THE MUSIC BOX IN A DUFFEL SLUNG OVER HIS SHOULDER, and a brown paper bag in his hand. Neal answered almost immediately after his knock, and Peter hoisted the bag. “I brought some of those soft pretzels you like.”
“You mean the soft pretzels you like?” Neal said with a smirk. He closed the door behind them and went to the fridge for a couple of beers as Peter headed for the table and removed the music box.
“Never thought I’d see that again,” Neal said quietly, his statement punctuated by a tsst as he cracked open one of the beers.
Peter set the box onto the table and accepted the beer Neal held out. They stood staring at the thing for an entire minute. Peter pulled out a chair and sat down. Neal joined him, his beer untouched between his feet. He sat stiffly, on the edge of his seat.
Peter tried to ignore it. “I didn’t tell you anything for your own protection,” he began. He had to explain, he had to. “I don’t know what you’re gonna do. And neither do you.”
“I know my options.”
Peter sighed. “Revenge or justice, right? Neal, as long as I’m involved, it’s gonna be the latter.” How else could he make him understand?
“What if justice isn’t good enough?” It was a serious question, which surprised Peter.
“It has to be. It will be.”
“What did you find?” Neal was eager to move forward; Peter got that.
“There’s a piece of the box that’s missing, right here. At first, I thought it was one of the cherubs that had broken off, but if you look more closely, it hasn’t broken off. It’s a keyhole, the missing piece is a key.”
Neal reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a tiny golden cherub, held it in front of him.
“Which you have,” Peter said. Of course he did.
Neal inserted the key into the box, but his eyes were on Peter’s. “No more secrets, Peter.”
Peter’s eyes on Neal’s were just as unwavering. “No more secrets.”
Neal turned the key and the remaining three cherubs turned in unison. Somewhere inside the box, Peter could hear a snick as an ancient lock opened for the first time in over fifty years. He reached out a hand and so did Neal, and together they opened the lid.
“What is it?” Peter said as they surveyed the item inside the hidden compartment.
“Looks like a second comb. Should we put it in? Listen to it?”
He looked at Neal like he was crazy. “Uh, hell yeah.” Peter watched as Neal removed the original comb with shaking hands, slotted the new one in and let it play.
“Not the prettiest tune,” Neal commented.
“What the hell does it mean?”
“Who says it means anything?” Neal said bitterly. He sat back in his chair and opened his own beer, took a swig and eyeballed it. “I need something stronger.” He rose and retrieved a bottle of single malt from a cabinet and poured himself two fingers.
Peter all but ignored him, listening to the box play its tune for a second and third time. It reminded him of something. Something he remembered reading in college in an Intro to Music Theory class he’d audited. As a math major, the measures and timing of musical composition was something he’d always found fascinating.
“I was at least expecting a treasure map or something useful in there,” Neal groused as he took his seat again.
“Shh,” Peter said, and listened to the thing for a fourth time.
“It’s another dead end, Peter,” Neal said angrily, knocking the thing closed.
“No, I don’t think so. I think it might be a code or something.” He explained how coded messages had been hidden within musical compositions since as far back as ancient Greece. “It’s usually music hidden in texts and art, but what if this one’s coded into the music itself?”
“A coded message? But what for?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. But it’s something, right?”
“I suppose.” He took a large sip of whisky. “Why can’t it ever be easy?”
“Nothing worthwhile was ever easy.”
“You’re saying that to a con man,” Neal pointed out with a smirk. “We make our living off of shortcuts and cheats.”
Peter shrugged. He had a point.
“I suppose we can have Moz take a look. If anyone can pull anything out of this, it’s him.”
Peter was reluctant to bring another person into this, but was forced to agree with Neal. “Should we call him?”
“He’s out of town. Incommunicado.”
Peter didn’t want to know what that meant. “When will he be back?”
“Two, three weeks.” Neal grabbed the bag of pretzels and tore a chunk off of one. He idly flicked off grains of salt with his thumbnail.
“Then I guess we wait,” Peter said, more disappointed than he thought he’d be. He drained his beer and set it on the table with a thunk.
“Want another?”
Peter indicated the whisky bottle. “I think I need something stronger.”
Neal got up and retrieved another glass, and Peter watched him move - that easy stride, his hips swaying as he walked.
“What?” Neal said, noticing Peter’s scrutiny as he poured.
Peter could feel his face coloring. “Nothing.”
“No secrets, remember?” Neal said, handing him his drink. When he did, their fingers touched and Peter felt his throat go dry.
Peter shook his head and downed his drink in one gulp. The whisky burned going down, its warmth spreading instantly outwards once it hit his stomach.
“So our agreement lasts for what, ten hours?” Neal asked, truly disappointed.
Fine. “El thinks you’re in love with me.”
It was Neal’s turn to blush. “She does?” His tone was flat, neutral.
He immediately wanted to take the words back, didn’t know what the hell he was thinking. Or if he was thinking. “Ha-ha. That El,” Peter began, trying to defuse the situation. As if either of them would believe it was a joke.
“She’s a pistol.” Neal said in an amused tone that Peter knew was anything but. He walked to the door and stood there with his hand on the knob, his shoulders hunched.
“You’re asking me to leave?”
“No. No, I’m leaving.”
Peter watched, open-mouthed, as Neal disappeared down the stairs, leaving the apartment door open in his wake. It wasn’t until he heard the front door open and close downstairs that Peter realized Neal wasn’t kidding, got to his feet and went after him.
He caught up to Neal, who appeared to be heading for the park. “Neal!” He paused but didn’t stop, forcing Peter to run. His chest burned from the exertion, and he silently damned that louse Kent yet again for the poison that had temporarily stolen his vitality. “You trying to give me a heart attack?” he called, and Neal stopped, turned to look at him with flashing eyes.
Peter was panting when he reached Neal. He stood with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. The lag in the conversation didn’t seem to lessen Neal’s apparent anger.
“Why would you say that to me?”
“Wh- I don’t know.”
“It’s not funny, Peter. It’s not something to be joked about.”
“I know.”
“You’re married. I would never -“ He stopped himself from talking and stalked away.
Peter strode after him, took him by the elbow, turned him. He was still angry, but there were tears in Neal’s eyes. “Please wait. We have to talk about this.”
Neal walked away again and Peter trotted to catch up. So they’d be doing this as a walk-and-talk. Fine. “There’s nothing to talk about,” Neal said to him when he realized Peter was following him.
“You honestly don’t believe that, do you?”
“I will amend my statement, then. There’s nothing I want to talk about.”
“Neal, it’s already out there.”
“And who put it out there? I don’t have to play along, Peter. I can’t believe you would do this.”
“Do what?”
“Mock me.”
That statement and the pain in Neal’s voice stopped Peter cold. “I would never do that.”
Neal made a dismissive gesture and increased his pace.
Fuck, fuck, FUCK! What the hell was I thinking? Peter set off after Neal again.
They entered the park and walked for several minutes, Peter some five paces behind Neal. He didn’t know what he could say to make it up, to make it right, but he didn’t want to leave this unresolved. Not tonight, not after their breakthrough with the music box.
“Christ, Neal, can you at least give me a chance to catch up?”
“No.”
“I wasn’t making fun of you. I didn’t know you really felt that way.”
“I find it hard to believe that you’d bring it up if that was the case.”
“OK, that was a lie.”
“Everything’s a lie with you lately.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Do want me to make a list?”
Grrr! “If it makes you stop walking.”
Neal only quickened his pace, which was easy since they were on a slight downward incline.
Neal said something Peter couldn’t hear. “What?”
“I said I can’t believe I made it so obvious. Some con man I am.”
“Well, El is kind of scary-intuitive. Nothing gets by her. She could be a CIA interrogator.”
Neal actually laughed, but kept going.
“Please, please, please let me explain.”
“I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”
“And I’d prefer it if we could just forget it happened, but that’s not an option.”
A slight beeping noise punctuated the night’s quiet and Neal slowed his pace, stopped. Relieved, Peter strode over to him and stood in front of him. “Thank you. Now, can we just talk about this?”
“I’m at the edge of my radius,” Neal said and started to walk back the way they’d come.
Peter acted fast and grabbed his arm. “Neal, please.”
“Please what? There’s nothing more to say.”
“You have feelings for me.”
He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Peter knew he wouldn’t lie, but it didn’t mean he’d admit it.
“What if I had feelings for you too?”
“Don’t even go there, Peter.”
“Why not?”
“You know why not. There are about a hundred reasons why not. And no good reason why.”
“There’s one reason why. Because you love me.”
Neal’s lower lip trembled and he closed his eyes. “That will never be enough. Don’t follow me.” He walked briskly back the way he’d come, leaving Peter standing on the path.
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX
On to Part 2