Fic: The End and the Beginning (7/9)
Title: The End and the Beginning (7/9)
Author: reve_silencieux
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: Neal, Peter, Sara, Mozzie, Jones, Elizabeth, OFC (N/S)
Spoilers: Season Five
Warnings: Spoilery (highlight to read) Permanent Injury - Paralysis
Word Count: 49,000 (This chapter: 5410)
Beta: sapphire2309
Summary: Five years after the events of The Last Con, Peter and Jones stumble across a case that opens up old wounds.
Author's Note: I want to thank Kanarek13 for the gorgeous cover art! My first!!
Previous Chapters: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
After dinner, Sara went to give Madeline her bath and get her ready for bed while Neal started to clean up. Without a word, Peter helped clear the dishes off the table. Neal could tell he was still uncomfortable with the situation. Most people either looked away or tried to help him. It was guilt that was eating at Peter, though, along with a sense of wanting to do something, anything, to make up for the years missed.
“How about the five cent tour of the place?” Neal asked, looking up after they had finished.
Peter nodded, and appeared relieved that Neal hadn’t jumped back into their earlier conversation about those first few months. Their eyes met and they both smiled. No matter the reassurances or apologies that Neal could give his friend, he knew it would take Peter a long time to accept and get past the hurt and grief he’d suffered for the past five years. They could talk and laugh and catch up tonight, but it would never be enough. It would never be the same as it was before.
Neal led him around, showing Peter the nursery that looked as though Noah’s ark had let loose. On seeing the spotless floor in Madeline’s purple butterfly themed room, Peter had remarked wryly, ‘Enjoy it while it lasts.’ They could hear Madeline’s giggles in the bathroom as they walked back down the hallway and Neal unlocked a door on the other side of the house.
With a flourish, he waved Peter in before him. “After you.”
He watched as Peter’s eyes widened in surprise as he looked past Neal. “You have an elevator?”
Neal chuckled lightly and backed into the elevator after Peter. After closing a series of doors, he pushed a button on the wall and the elevator jerked, slowly moving downward. “Yep. It was this or a small lift, and we figured an enclosed elevator was safer if we had kids crawling around.” He paused and glanced up with a small shrug. “Plus, it looks nicer.” Peter smirked. Neal rolled his eyes and turned back around. “Trust me when I say we’re going to be paying off this house long after Madeline is in college.”
The elevator stopped and Neal wheeled out. He hit a light switch on the nearby wall and led Peter down a hallway. They stopped in a large open room that took up most of the basement. On the back wall were a row of windows and a patio door that opened out to the backyard. A little light from the living room above them filtered down through the porch, illuminating the room just enough for them to move around.
Neal found the light switch easily and a string of red pendant lights hanging in the middle of the room lit up.
“A pool table?” Peter exclaimed in astonishment.
Grinning, Neal rolled forward. The rec room was one of his favorite rooms. When they’d realized that they could only fit three bedrooms on the main floor, they knew they would have to finish out the basement for a fourth bedroom. At first, Neal had insisted that it would be okay that he couldn’t get downstairs, but Sara had fought him on it. It was only later that Neal appreciated Sara’s efforts to make sure Neal didn’t feel like a prisoner in his own home.
“Sara gave it to me for my birthday the first year we lived here.”
Peter turned and shook his head, clearly exasperated once again at Neal’s luck. “Are you kidding me? I get colorful dog socks and you get a pool table?”
Neal laughed and ran a hand over the edge of the pool table. It was stained a dark black finish, with clean lines, easy for him to roll under and work around. Bright red felt covered the surface, matching the red lighting above and the red bar stools at the small bar in the corner of the room.
“What can I say? I’m a lucky guy.”
Peter pointed towards a door on the other side of the room. “Let me guess, there’s a ping pong table in there?”
“Nope. That’s my studio.” Neal pushed away from the table and then wheeled over to the door. Peter followed him into the room without a word. Neal didn’t turn on the lights; moonlight bathed the room in a soft glow. He stopped a few feet in and leaned back in his chair. This was the one room where he felt totally at ease and peaceful. It was just him and his paints. With a walk-out basement, the room was allowed natural lighting, and he could have his own space away from the noise of the rest of the house.
“Unfortunately, it’s been awhile since I’ve had the time to paint.”
Peter glanced down at him with a wry smile. “Miss your carefree bachelor days?”
He blinked. Peter’s offhand question stung. The accident was the dividing point of his life-Neal knew he meant nothing hurtful by it-but he was either a conman with legs or a husband and father in a wheelchair. Most days it was an easy choice. He didn’t even think about it anymore.
“Nope.” Spinning around, he wheeled back into the rec room. “How about a game?”
Peter followed behind him, closing the door. “Sure.”
Neal went to grab a cue and watched as Peter unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. It was a familiar scene, reminiscent of the late nights they had worked to find a needle in the haystack, a clue that could help them with their current case. When the anklet had come off, he had left knowing full well that those days were over. The finality of it hadn’t hit him until the accident. He hadn’t realized that he would never see Peter Burke again, never sit and talk to him over beer and cheap wine, or argue whether to put on a baseball game instead of Ocean’s 11 (the original, of course).
He missed his friend. More than he had realized.
Peter looked up and grinned. “So, going to teach your kids to be pool sharks, too?”
He laughed and shook his head. “Not if I can help it.”
Walking around the pool table, Peter grabbed his own cue and chalked it up. “Are you going to tell them about your past?”
Neal hesitated. “Eventually. I don’t want to lie to them, and have them blindsided one day if it comes out. When they’re old enough to understand, we’ll let them know they’re in Witness Protection and try to explain everything.”
“It’s not your fault, Neal,” Peter said calmly, and held out the chalk.
He frowned, and his hands moved on their own accord and chalked the cue. “Maybe not this time, but I’m not exactly innocent either. I grew up believing my father was a hero, and he was anything but. I’m not going to keep my past from them. They deserve to know the truth.”
“You’re not that man anymore. Unlike your father, you changed. And aside from being a pain in my side, you’re not a bad guy. Don’t compare yourself to him, Neal.”
Neal sighed and motioned for Peter to rack the balls. “It’s nice to hear you say that, Peter, but if there’s one thing I do know, it’s that secrets never stay hidden for long. And they always come out when you least want them to.”
Peter paused, holding the pool ball rack in his hands, and stared down at him, wistful. “But sometimes not knowing allows someone to live in peace.”
Neal froze. After all the yelling and the anger, they had quietly moved on with their lives, each in their own respective positions-Peter the agent, and Neal the ex-con-with a healthy dose of suspicion and silent resentment. Gone were the easy, carefree days of joking around the office and harmless sleight of hand tricks just to prove that he could. He'd known that Peter had been unhappy, but he'd thought-hoped Peter had finally accepted it.
“You’re still upset about the deal with Hagen,” he replied quietly and laid his cue across his lap so he could move closer. “Peter, you weren’t guilty. You deserved that promotion.”
Peter looked away. “But I didn’t want it that way.” His hands shuffled the balls around silently.
Neal glanced away, staring out the windows at the darkness, and wondered once more what Peter's life would have been like without him. He looked back up at Peter and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry it happened the way it did, and I wish I could have seen my dad for what he really was sooner, but we can’t change the past. It’s a hard lesson, one I’ve had to learn way too many times. What I do know is this-I don’t regret taking that deal.”
He wheeled next to the edge of the pool table and laid a hand on Peter's arm, forcing him to look down at Neal. “It might have not have been the way you saw your career going, but you can't tell me that you think you should be sitting in a prison cell right now.”
Peter let out a long, shuddering breath. “I know, but the way they wined and dined me-the car, the Yankees tickets, and all the accolades they piled on me… the DC job. I didn't earn that.”
Neal cocked his head and stared up at his friend, remembering his own pain and disappointment from that turn of events, and felt sad that Peter still felt that way. “But you did. All that happened is that the truth came out. James did it. Pratt was dirty. And you helped prove it. The rest...” he shrugged. “Well deserved perks, if you ask me. They shouldn't have doubted you to begin with.”
He paused then cracked a smile. “And don’t even argue about the DC position-you turned it down.”
Peter's nose wrinkled up and he shook his head. “Too much bureaucracy for my tastes.”
“Exactly.” Neal grinned as Peter. “You’re right where you’re supposed to be, doing the job just as well as Hughes ever did. If it hadn’t been for Pratt, when Hughes retired, you would have been promoted. Ask anyone in that office and they would tell you the same thing.”
Peter chuckled. “I’m not sure Reese ever wanted to retire. If it had been up to him, he would have stayed for another twenty years.” He picked up his cue and motioned to the table.
Neal waved him on and backed up. He watched as Peter lined up his cue and quickly sent the balls flying. The striped green ball dropped into the corner pocket.
“Maybe, but look at you now, I would have thought the same thing, and you're talking about retiring in a few years.”
Standing up straight and walking around as he contemplated his next shot, Peter shot Neal a quick grin. “Oh, I don’t plan on retiring completely. You’re not the only one who’s back in school. I start in the fall-going for my MBA. Thought I’d try consulting afterwards. I think I know my way around financial fraud.”
“Nice.” Neal smiled wide, hardly surprised by the news and waited as Peter sunk another ball. His next shot spun wild, and Neal took a moment to look for his best shot. He then moved around the table and lined himself up. Two balls sank into a corner pocket in quick succession.
“You should start something with Hughes. The two of you would blow everyone else out of the water,” Neal said, wheeling back to the other side of the table.
Peter casually leaned against the table and rolled his cue between his hands. “Nah… Hughes is retired for good. He moved out to Long Island to be closer to his grandkids. We meet once a month for lunch. He’s happy.”
Neal sunk another ball and then decided to go after one of the trickier balls. It would have been easy years ago, but it took a little more effort now. He leaned his cue against the table and set the brakes on his chair. In one quick move, he spread his hands on the rail and pushed up, swinging his body up and over, sitting on the narrow ledge. He shifted, making sure he wouldn't fall and looked over at Peter.
He chuckled when he caught Peter staring back at him, eyes wide. “Now, now, Peter. It's not polite to stare.” He reached for his cue and twisted back around, leaning into the pool table. Years ago it had scared him, having nothing to keep him up, but now all it took was some careful balance-and a lot of core strength. He eyed the ball he was aiming for-it needed to jump over another one that was in his way. Holding his cue at a steep angle, he judged the distance and gave the cue ball a sharp tap, sending it flying. It landed several inches away and collided with the nearby ball, which rolled into the middle pocket.
Peter shook his head and whistled. “Impressive. Although somehow I doubt that was legal.”
Neal raised an eyebrow, and set his cue down. “You’re not going to call foul on the guy in the wheelchair, are you?”
He rolled his eyes. “No.”
Neal leaned over and pulled his chair closer, then less than gracefully fell into it. Gravity was his friend, but it wasn’t pretty. He picked up his legs and arranged them back on the footrest. Pushing back from the table, he grabbed his cue and wheeled around.
“I’m supposed to use a bridge, but I think it takes away from the fun of it.”
“Or maybe you just like showing off,” Peter replied dryly.
Neal looked up and flashed him a big grin. “Maybe.” He shrugged lightly. “It took a long time to learn that shot when I was a kid. Be a shame not to use it anymore.”
“Yes, it would be such a shame to play down to the rest of us mortals.”
Smothering a grin, Neal stared down the table and lined up his next shot. They played on in silence, moving around each other without a word. There was a comfort in the familiarity, but there was still so much waiting to be said. It was Peter who finally spoke up.
“Hughes went to your funeral.”
Neal’s hands froze, and he glanced up curiously at the somber tone of Peter’s voice.
Peter stood at the end of the table, clutching his pool cue tightly. “Everyone from White Collar went. Even Rice and some agents outside the department showed up. It was a sight to see, really. The FBI and the criminals they chased, all in one place. Mozzie and his friends all sat off to the side-didn’t say a word to anyone, and disappeared at the end before anyone could even get a good look at their faces.”
He laughed softly and continued in a low voice, “No one else could get those two groups together without, well, shots being fired I suppose. Only you…”
Neal stayed silent.
“I don’t want to do that again, Neal,” he said quietly. “I can’t just walk away again.” He took a deep breath and looked over at Neal, hope shining in his eyes. “Why can’t we stay in touch?”
“Peter…” Neal started, and sighed.
“You ran under the nose of the FBI for… how long? What’s so different about this?”
It would have been ironic that Peter was asking this of him, if it weren’t for the fact that the consequences this time around were worse than prison. “You want me to break the rules, Peter?”
Peter shifted and looked away almost guiltily. “No, but this time…” He glanced back. “Does it matter? I know where you live. It’s not like I can forget that. We can use burner phones… anonymous email accounts…”
“Email can be read, Peter. They can be traced. You know that as well as I do.” He looked up at Peter. “It’s not that I don’t want to…”
And Neal did. He’d already given it serious thought, but he wasn’t going to put his family at risk. Not now.
“There has to be a way. Look at Mozzie.” Peter waved a hand around, visibly frustrated. “He’s as paranoid as they come and he stays off the radar.”
Neal almost laughed. Peter was using Mozzie as his argument? But he understood how Peter felt. He’d once argued with Mozzie about staying in New York because he didn’t want to leave his friends behind. They had become family.
Now he had a family.
Could he have them both? Peter did have a point-there were ways to be anonymous, and after a life on the run, he had the experience. Neal could hear Mozzie’s voice in his head, drilling into him how to stay safe and anonymous.
If he did this, would this just be the beginning of the proverbial slippery slope? First Peter, then El, and maybe Mozzie? Or June? They were all trustworthy, but this was why WitSec had rules. No contact. It was a chain reaction, and sooner or later someone would find out-be it friend or foe.
But Peter already knew the truth, and Neal couldn’t do anything about that.
Neal trusted Peter with his life, and by extension, his family. Peter knew the risks better than anyone did. It would be hard to keep the secret, but he knew Peter would protect them.
And when it came right down to it, Neal wanted it as much as Peter did. A couple nights weren’t enough. He wanted his friend back.
Taking a deep breath, he finally nodded. “Okay.”
Peter looked ready to argue, then realized that Neal had agreed. Any other time, Neal would have taken joy in tripping Peter up. “Okay?” he echoed.
It felt like a role reversal, and Neal nodded again. “Yes, but Peter, we do it my way. And you can’t tell Elizabeth. No one can know-not even Jones.”
Surprise, and then obvious disappointment crossed his face. Then moments later Peter shook his head and schooled his face. With a grim smile, he nodded. “I understand. If I were in your shoes, I’d expect the same thing.”
Neal was tempted to joke that he couldn’t feel his shoes, or his feet for that matter, but decided against it. Peter wasn’t ready for those kind of jokes yet. Maybe in time. That thought made him smile. It would be a long distance relationship, but he would have Peter in his life again.
“There is software that lets you use the Internet anonymously. Use the version that you can run off a flash drive so it’s not installed on your computer. We’ll set up an email account that both of us can access. Don’t send any emails-only use drafts. If we attach photos, the other person has to delete them as soon as they view them. And we can never print anything out.”
He relaxed his hands and realized that he’d been holding the pool cue like a vice for the past few minutes. Resting it against the table, he evened out his breath and looked up at Peter. “We get burner phones, but for now they’re for emergencies only. I know that’s not what you want to hear-”
“No, no, it’s fine,” Peter interrupted. He exhaled loudly and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll take what I can get. Considering that two days ago you were dead, this is… well, I can’t complain.”
Peter stared off into the night, absently spinning the cue between his hands. “I still remember getting that phone call. Jones and Diana had just been joking about you, how you would do anything to get out of the van. When I saw the London area code, I thought maybe you’d gotten into trouble again, but I had no idea… I-” he squeezed his eyes shut. “I hadn’t realized how much I missed you and then you were gone.”
Neal swallowed and looked down at his hands in his lap. Those first few days were a blur to him now. But clearly, others would never forget.
“I’m sorry,” Neal replied quietly.
Peter glanced back and smiled shakily. “It’s not your fault. You did what you had to do to stay safe-to keep all of us safe. That’s a decision I don’t envy you having to make. It… it was just hard.” He took a deep breath. “You never expect the last time you see someone to be… the last time.”
Neal closed his eyes. That was a feeling he was familiar with. For days when he was laid up in the hospital all he could think about were those last moments-walking, running, dancing-and the people he’d left behind. It had seemed wrong that his last words to Peter had been so… trivial. If he had known, if he had called him just once after he left…
But he hadn't. He'd been so focused on moving on with his new life, on making sure he could stay on the straight and narrow, that he hadn't allowed himself to look back. Not even to pick up the phone. He'd just wanted some time to himself, to get his feet under him, and enjoy his freedom without constantly being second guessed.
Maybe if they had worked things out that last year, instead of quietly ignoring everything, he might not have felt that way. But he’d wanted Peter to be proud of him, and for that, he’d needed to prove himself, and that took time. Time he never got.
He opened his eyes to find Peter staring down at him, his eyes tinged red and his face crestfallen.
Without a word, Peter crossed the distance between them and leaned over, wrapping his arms around Neal, hugging him tight. “It’s been too long,” he whispered, choking up.
Tears trailed down his cheeks as Neal reached up and hugged him back. “I know.”
*~*~*~*
Neal stared morosely out the small airplane window as they sat in the hanger. He was so close. Just a few miles away, Peter was going about his day, grumbling about paperwork and looking on enviously as Jones and Diana went out into the field. And here he was, stuck inside a small government jet, unable to go anywhere even if he tried.
For obvious reasons, they hadn’t deplaned once they’d landed at Teterboro airport. Only seven hours ago they’d left London, but already it felt like a lifetime. As if he’d crossed an invisible line, where Neal Caffrey ceased to exist and John Cameron was born. His old life was officially over.
He watched as Erin, the US Marshal assigned to them, talked with the customs agent outside. Three more US Marshals could be seen standing around the perimeter of the hangar, although unnoticeable to the untrained eye. The last time he'd returned to the States under guard, he'd been shot and handcuffed. There were no handcuffs this time, but he still couldn't run for it, and there was no ‘get out of jail free’ card waiting for him.
Sara was nose deep in her law textbook, as she had been for the last four hours of the flight and the past three months while he had been in rehab. Neal didn't blame her. He wasn't a fan of long flights and trapped spaces unless he had something to occupy himself.
He hadn't had this much time to himself since the weeks he'd spent in the hospital on his back. Ever since the accident, every hour of his life had been scripted-from the nurses rotating him every two hours to the strict schedule of rehab. There had been hours of physical and occupational therapy, gym time, psychologist and doctors appointments, and general instructional classes. Even in his allotted free time, he'd been expected to participate in group activities.
There had been little time to just breathe.
Neal didn't like having all the attention focused on him all the time. There were times to flirt and charm, and times to blend in and slink into the shadows. But for the past four months, he couldn't run, couldn't hide, even if he wanted to. Everyone, from the security detail to the US Marshals, was there because of him. In prison, he had been only one of many, and with the anklet, he had the privacy of his home.
It wasn’t just the attention, though, it was the simple fact that everything they did was for him. Neal was used to fending for himself, to doing whatever needed to be done-by himself. He didn't like relying on other people. He liked to be in control, which was why he preferred to work alone (albeit with Mozzie in the background). Rehab had been a startling wake up call, and a lesson in humility.
Neal looked over at the wheelchair-his wheelchair-that was tucked behind the empty seats on the other side of the jet. It was top of the line, sleek and ultra lightweight, but that didn't change the fact that it was the only thing that stood between him and any semblance of independence. It was both a blessing and a curse. And he couldn't do anything about it. He couldn't fix the situation, couldn't switch out a forgery or make the evidence disappear.
He had no choice in it, and that hurt the most, because it had been his decision-his choice to proceed with the Gregory case. He could have walked away earlier, or declined to help Interpol, but he hadn't. Now he and Sara were paying the price.
He still felt guilty, watching as Sara worked to make herself a new life. A law degree gave her an opportunity at a new career, but it wasn't a given. She still had to pass the bar. The US Marshals weren't handing everything to them on a silver platter, they still had to work for it.
She hadn't complained, but that didn't make him feel any better. She had supported him the entire time, even while she worked through her own injuries, and that had left little time for her.
He wasn't so lucky though, having no degree to fall back on, and no marketable skills beyond artistic talent, and that wouldn't get him very far. And he'd been discouraged from bringing any attention to himself, so selling any art was out of the question.
Neal was just thankful that he was getting a high school diploma out of it. The Marshals had reluctantly agreed that it would be better for him to have a diploma, rather than a GED. And as it so happened, they had his records from his first stint in WitSec, where he had left just two months shy of graduating with straight A’s and a respectable SAT score.
Going back to school didn't quite scare him, but he realized that this was the turning point of his life. He had to rebuild-recreate-Neal Caffrey for the final time. If it weren't for the chair, he could easily see this as another alias, a life he’d once offered to Sara (minus the riches, of course). But it wasn't that simple. His life was not the fairytale that everyone thought he lived. Not then and certainly not now.
He'd already learned how hard his life would be, and it wasn't pretty.
A part of him didn't want to accept it, but that only led to madness, and Neal was stronger than that. There had been a lot of ups and downs in his checkered past, and now, well... he wasn't sure whether this was an up or a down. He was alive. Sara was alive. There was no anklet on his leg (not that he would feel it if there was), and 'felon' wasn't tacked on to his name.
But the past four months had been the hardest of his life, and he wondered how he could look forward to a life in a wheelchair. The con man with the silver tongue and million dollar smile was gone. He could no longer slip into a crowded room and work his magic, then waltz out unnoticed. The psychologist at the rehab center had tried to get him to see that his life wasn’t over, but he couldn’t explain to her that it really was-Neal Caffrey was gone. In more ways than one.
It wasn't that he missed his old life of lying and thieving and constantly looking over his shoulder. But for a man who’d lived his life alone, it was hard to need help to do even the simplest of things. Or deal with all the effort and planning that was part of his life now.
He knew it would get easier with time. In the past three months he’d gone from completely helpless and unable to sit up on his own, to taking care of himself. Glancing over at Sara, he smiled softly, watching the intense concentration on her face. Her stubbornness, love, and support were really what got him through. She had been there every step of the way, and while parts had been embarrassing and ugly, she’d taken it all in stride.
Without warning, she slammed her book shut, startling him. She rolled her neck and stretched her arms for a moment, before looking up at him.
"Had enough?" he asked lightly.
She let out a huff. "If I never have to hear about the rule against perpetuities ever again, I'll be a happy woman."
Neal raised an eyebrow, honestly amused at seeing this side of her, and wondered what she had been like as a child. She'd grown into a tenacious and ambitious woman, but the little girl in her had to have been feisty. It was a frightening yet adorable mental image.
Sara shrugged, then stood up and walked over to sit across from him. "I'm just tired. It's one thing to spend hours tracking someone down, but at least you get some satisfaction when you catch the guy. I feel like I'm going nowhere, just reading the same thing over and over-for months on end.”
He smirked. “Peter chased me for three years. I’m not sure you can compete.”
Rolling her eyes, she popped her neck, and he winced as he heard a crack. She stretched her arms above her head and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. “Yeah, well, I haven't studied this much in years. I’m just glad I don’t have to go back to school too. That’s all you.” She opened her eyes and they twinkled in obvious amusement. “Excited?”
“I like school. There’s always something new to learn.”
“Of course, how could I forget that Neal Caffrey is an expert in practically everything?” she remarked dryly. Cocking her head to the side, she looked at him pointedly. “How many degrees do you have?”
He beamed. “Three MBAs and two doctorates.”
She shook her head and laughed. “Only you…” Settling back in her seat, she smiled, and for a moment Neal forgot they were on their way to a new life.
It was easy to slip back into that familiar place, bantering back and forth, especially now that they were out of the hospital. Soon, it would just be the two of them again. He knew it wouldn’t go back to normal, though. It couldn’t.
“You ready for this?”
Her eyes shined with a love and resolve that still surprised him most days, and the corners of her mouth stretched wide in a warm smile. There was no hesitation in her voice as she replied, “You jump, I jump.”
Neal's heart swelled, and he knew in that instant that everything would be okay. He didn't regret his choice to move to London, and he wouldn't dwell on what could have been. Neal Caffrey might have died, but in name only. He'd never backed down from a challenge before, and he wasn't going to give up now. Not when he still had a chance at a good life. It might not be what they had imagined, or be a glamorous life in the clouds, but it would be theirs.
And they were in it together.
Chapter Eight
Author: reve_silencieux
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: Neal, Peter, Sara, Mozzie, Jones, Elizabeth, OFC (N/S)
Spoilers: Season Five
Warnings: Spoilery (highlight to read) Permanent Injury - Paralysis
Word Count: 49,000 (This chapter: 5410)
Beta: sapphire2309
Summary: Five years after the events of The Last Con, Peter and Jones stumble across a case that opens up old wounds.
Author's Note: I want to thank Kanarek13 for the gorgeous cover art! My first!!
Previous Chapters: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
After dinner, Sara went to give Madeline her bath and get her ready for bed while Neal started to clean up. Without a word, Peter helped clear the dishes off the table. Neal could tell he was still uncomfortable with the situation. Most people either looked away or tried to help him. It was guilt that was eating at Peter, though, along with a sense of wanting to do something, anything, to make up for the years missed.
“How about the five cent tour of the place?” Neal asked, looking up after they had finished.
Peter nodded, and appeared relieved that Neal hadn’t jumped back into their earlier conversation about those first few months. Their eyes met and they both smiled. No matter the reassurances or apologies that Neal could give his friend, he knew it would take Peter a long time to accept and get past the hurt and grief he’d suffered for the past five years. They could talk and laugh and catch up tonight, but it would never be enough. It would never be the same as it was before.
Neal led him around, showing Peter the nursery that looked as though Noah’s ark had let loose. On seeing the spotless floor in Madeline’s purple butterfly themed room, Peter had remarked wryly, ‘Enjoy it while it lasts.’ They could hear Madeline’s giggles in the bathroom as they walked back down the hallway and Neal unlocked a door on the other side of the house.
With a flourish, he waved Peter in before him. “After you.”
He watched as Peter’s eyes widened in surprise as he looked past Neal. “You have an elevator?”
Neal chuckled lightly and backed into the elevator after Peter. After closing a series of doors, he pushed a button on the wall and the elevator jerked, slowly moving downward. “Yep. It was this or a small lift, and we figured an enclosed elevator was safer if we had kids crawling around.” He paused and glanced up with a small shrug. “Plus, it looks nicer.” Peter smirked. Neal rolled his eyes and turned back around. “Trust me when I say we’re going to be paying off this house long after Madeline is in college.”
The elevator stopped and Neal wheeled out. He hit a light switch on the nearby wall and led Peter down a hallway. They stopped in a large open room that took up most of the basement. On the back wall were a row of windows and a patio door that opened out to the backyard. A little light from the living room above them filtered down through the porch, illuminating the room just enough for them to move around.
Neal found the light switch easily and a string of red pendant lights hanging in the middle of the room lit up.
“A pool table?” Peter exclaimed in astonishment.
Grinning, Neal rolled forward. The rec room was one of his favorite rooms. When they’d realized that they could only fit three bedrooms on the main floor, they knew they would have to finish out the basement for a fourth bedroom. At first, Neal had insisted that it would be okay that he couldn’t get downstairs, but Sara had fought him on it. It was only later that Neal appreciated Sara’s efforts to make sure Neal didn’t feel like a prisoner in his own home.
“Sara gave it to me for my birthday the first year we lived here.”
Peter turned and shook his head, clearly exasperated once again at Neal’s luck. “Are you kidding me? I get colorful dog socks and you get a pool table?”
Neal laughed and ran a hand over the edge of the pool table. It was stained a dark black finish, with clean lines, easy for him to roll under and work around. Bright red felt covered the surface, matching the red lighting above and the red bar stools at the small bar in the corner of the room.
“What can I say? I’m a lucky guy.”
Peter pointed towards a door on the other side of the room. “Let me guess, there’s a ping pong table in there?”
“Nope. That’s my studio.” Neal pushed away from the table and then wheeled over to the door. Peter followed him into the room without a word. Neal didn’t turn on the lights; moonlight bathed the room in a soft glow. He stopped a few feet in and leaned back in his chair. This was the one room where he felt totally at ease and peaceful. It was just him and his paints. With a walk-out basement, the room was allowed natural lighting, and he could have his own space away from the noise of the rest of the house.
“Unfortunately, it’s been awhile since I’ve had the time to paint.”
Peter glanced down at him with a wry smile. “Miss your carefree bachelor days?”
He blinked. Peter’s offhand question stung. The accident was the dividing point of his life-Neal knew he meant nothing hurtful by it-but he was either a conman with legs or a husband and father in a wheelchair. Most days it was an easy choice. He didn’t even think about it anymore.
“Nope.” Spinning around, he wheeled back into the rec room. “How about a game?”
Peter followed behind him, closing the door. “Sure.”
Neal went to grab a cue and watched as Peter unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. It was a familiar scene, reminiscent of the late nights they had worked to find a needle in the haystack, a clue that could help them with their current case. When the anklet had come off, he had left knowing full well that those days were over. The finality of it hadn’t hit him until the accident. He hadn’t realized that he would never see Peter Burke again, never sit and talk to him over beer and cheap wine, or argue whether to put on a baseball game instead of Ocean’s 11 (the original, of course).
He missed his friend. More than he had realized.
Peter looked up and grinned. “So, going to teach your kids to be pool sharks, too?”
He laughed and shook his head. “Not if I can help it.”
Walking around the pool table, Peter grabbed his own cue and chalked it up. “Are you going to tell them about your past?”
Neal hesitated. “Eventually. I don’t want to lie to them, and have them blindsided one day if it comes out. When they’re old enough to understand, we’ll let them know they’re in Witness Protection and try to explain everything.”
“It’s not your fault, Neal,” Peter said calmly, and held out the chalk.
He frowned, and his hands moved on their own accord and chalked the cue. “Maybe not this time, but I’m not exactly innocent either. I grew up believing my father was a hero, and he was anything but. I’m not going to keep my past from them. They deserve to know the truth.”
“You’re not that man anymore. Unlike your father, you changed. And aside from being a pain in my side, you’re not a bad guy. Don’t compare yourself to him, Neal.”
Neal sighed and motioned for Peter to rack the balls. “It’s nice to hear you say that, Peter, but if there’s one thing I do know, it’s that secrets never stay hidden for long. And they always come out when you least want them to.”
Peter paused, holding the pool ball rack in his hands, and stared down at him, wistful. “But sometimes not knowing allows someone to live in peace.”
Neal froze. After all the yelling and the anger, they had quietly moved on with their lives, each in their own respective positions-Peter the agent, and Neal the ex-con-with a healthy dose of suspicion and silent resentment. Gone were the easy, carefree days of joking around the office and harmless sleight of hand tricks just to prove that he could. He'd known that Peter had been unhappy, but he'd thought-hoped Peter had finally accepted it.
“You’re still upset about the deal with Hagen,” he replied quietly and laid his cue across his lap so he could move closer. “Peter, you weren’t guilty. You deserved that promotion.”
Peter looked away. “But I didn’t want it that way.” His hands shuffled the balls around silently.
Neal glanced away, staring out the windows at the darkness, and wondered once more what Peter's life would have been like without him. He looked back up at Peter and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry it happened the way it did, and I wish I could have seen my dad for what he really was sooner, but we can’t change the past. It’s a hard lesson, one I’ve had to learn way too many times. What I do know is this-I don’t regret taking that deal.”
He wheeled next to the edge of the pool table and laid a hand on Peter's arm, forcing him to look down at Neal. “It might have not have been the way you saw your career going, but you can't tell me that you think you should be sitting in a prison cell right now.”
Peter let out a long, shuddering breath. “I know, but the way they wined and dined me-the car, the Yankees tickets, and all the accolades they piled on me… the DC job. I didn't earn that.”
Neal cocked his head and stared up at his friend, remembering his own pain and disappointment from that turn of events, and felt sad that Peter still felt that way. “But you did. All that happened is that the truth came out. James did it. Pratt was dirty. And you helped prove it. The rest...” he shrugged. “Well deserved perks, if you ask me. They shouldn't have doubted you to begin with.”
He paused then cracked a smile. “And don’t even argue about the DC position-you turned it down.”
Peter's nose wrinkled up and he shook his head. “Too much bureaucracy for my tastes.”
“Exactly.” Neal grinned as Peter. “You’re right where you’re supposed to be, doing the job just as well as Hughes ever did. If it hadn’t been for Pratt, when Hughes retired, you would have been promoted. Ask anyone in that office and they would tell you the same thing.”
Peter chuckled. “I’m not sure Reese ever wanted to retire. If it had been up to him, he would have stayed for another twenty years.” He picked up his cue and motioned to the table.
Neal waved him on and backed up. He watched as Peter lined up his cue and quickly sent the balls flying. The striped green ball dropped into the corner pocket.
“Maybe, but look at you now, I would have thought the same thing, and you're talking about retiring in a few years.”
Standing up straight and walking around as he contemplated his next shot, Peter shot Neal a quick grin. “Oh, I don’t plan on retiring completely. You’re not the only one who’s back in school. I start in the fall-going for my MBA. Thought I’d try consulting afterwards. I think I know my way around financial fraud.”
“Nice.” Neal smiled wide, hardly surprised by the news and waited as Peter sunk another ball. His next shot spun wild, and Neal took a moment to look for his best shot. He then moved around the table and lined himself up. Two balls sank into a corner pocket in quick succession.
“You should start something with Hughes. The two of you would blow everyone else out of the water,” Neal said, wheeling back to the other side of the table.
Peter casually leaned against the table and rolled his cue between his hands. “Nah… Hughes is retired for good. He moved out to Long Island to be closer to his grandkids. We meet once a month for lunch. He’s happy.”
Neal sunk another ball and then decided to go after one of the trickier balls. It would have been easy years ago, but it took a little more effort now. He leaned his cue against the table and set the brakes on his chair. In one quick move, he spread his hands on the rail and pushed up, swinging his body up and over, sitting on the narrow ledge. He shifted, making sure he wouldn't fall and looked over at Peter.
He chuckled when he caught Peter staring back at him, eyes wide. “Now, now, Peter. It's not polite to stare.” He reached for his cue and twisted back around, leaning into the pool table. Years ago it had scared him, having nothing to keep him up, but now all it took was some careful balance-and a lot of core strength. He eyed the ball he was aiming for-it needed to jump over another one that was in his way. Holding his cue at a steep angle, he judged the distance and gave the cue ball a sharp tap, sending it flying. It landed several inches away and collided with the nearby ball, which rolled into the middle pocket.
Peter shook his head and whistled. “Impressive. Although somehow I doubt that was legal.”
Neal raised an eyebrow, and set his cue down. “You’re not going to call foul on the guy in the wheelchair, are you?”
He rolled his eyes. “No.”
Neal leaned over and pulled his chair closer, then less than gracefully fell into it. Gravity was his friend, but it wasn’t pretty. He picked up his legs and arranged them back on the footrest. Pushing back from the table, he grabbed his cue and wheeled around.
“I’m supposed to use a bridge, but I think it takes away from the fun of it.”
“Or maybe you just like showing off,” Peter replied dryly.
Neal looked up and flashed him a big grin. “Maybe.” He shrugged lightly. “It took a long time to learn that shot when I was a kid. Be a shame not to use it anymore.”
“Yes, it would be such a shame to play down to the rest of us mortals.”
Smothering a grin, Neal stared down the table and lined up his next shot. They played on in silence, moving around each other without a word. There was a comfort in the familiarity, but there was still so much waiting to be said. It was Peter who finally spoke up.
“Hughes went to your funeral.”
Neal’s hands froze, and he glanced up curiously at the somber tone of Peter’s voice.
Peter stood at the end of the table, clutching his pool cue tightly. “Everyone from White Collar went. Even Rice and some agents outside the department showed up. It was a sight to see, really. The FBI and the criminals they chased, all in one place. Mozzie and his friends all sat off to the side-didn’t say a word to anyone, and disappeared at the end before anyone could even get a good look at their faces.”
He laughed softly and continued in a low voice, “No one else could get those two groups together without, well, shots being fired I suppose. Only you…”
Neal stayed silent.
“I don’t want to do that again, Neal,” he said quietly. “I can’t just walk away again.” He took a deep breath and looked over at Neal, hope shining in his eyes. “Why can’t we stay in touch?”
“Peter…” Neal started, and sighed.
“You ran under the nose of the FBI for… how long? What’s so different about this?”
It would have been ironic that Peter was asking this of him, if it weren’t for the fact that the consequences this time around were worse than prison. “You want me to break the rules, Peter?”
Peter shifted and looked away almost guiltily. “No, but this time…” He glanced back. “Does it matter? I know where you live. It’s not like I can forget that. We can use burner phones… anonymous email accounts…”
“Email can be read, Peter. They can be traced. You know that as well as I do.” He looked up at Peter. “It’s not that I don’t want to…”
And Neal did. He’d already given it serious thought, but he wasn’t going to put his family at risk. Not now.
“There has to be a way. Look at Mozzie.” Peter waved a hand around, visibly frustrated. “He’s as paranoid as they come and he stays off the radar.”
Neal almost laughed. Peter was using Mozzie as his argument? But he understood how Peter felt. He’d once argued with Mozzie about staying in New York because he didn’t want to leave his friends behind. They had become family.
Now he had a family.
Could he have them both? Peter did have a point-there were ways to be anonymous, and after a life on the run, he had the experience. Neal could hear Mozzie’s voice in his head, drilling into him how to stay safe and anonymous.
If he did this, would this just be the beginning of the proverbial slippery slope? First Peter, then El, and maybe Mozzie? Or June? They were all trustworthy, but this was why WitSec had rules. No contact. It was a chain reaction, and sooner or later someone would find out-be it friend or foe.
But Peter already knew the truth, and Neal couldn’t do anything about that.
Neal trusted Peter with his life, and by extension, his family. Peter knew the risks better than anyone did. It would be hard to keep the secret, but he knew Peter would protect them.
And when it came right down to it, Neal wanted it as much as Peter did. A couple nights weren’t enough. He wanted his friend back.
Taking a deep breath, he finally nodded. “Okay.”
Peter looked ready to argue, then realized that Neal had agreed. Any other time, Neal would have taken joy in tripping Peter up. “Okay?” he echoed.
It felt like a role reversal, and Neal nodded again. “Yes, but Peter, we do it my way. And you can’t tell Elizabeth. No one can know-not even Jones.”
Surprise, and then obvious disappointment crossed his face. Then moments later Peter shook his head and schooled his face. With a grim smile, he nodded. “I understand. If I were in your shoes, I’d expect the same thing.”
Neal was tempted to joke that he couldn’t feel his shoes, or his feet for that matter, but decided against it. Peter wasn’t ready for those kind of jokes yet. Maybe in time. That thought made him smile. It would be a long distance relationship, but he would have Peter in his life again.
“There is software that lets you use the Internet anonymously. Use the version that you can run off a flash drive so it’s not installed on your computer. We’ll set up an email account that both of us can access. Don’t send any emails-only use drafts. If we attach photos, the other person has to delete them as soon as they view them. And we can never print anything out.”
He relaxed his hands and realized that he’d been holding the pool cue like a vice for the past few minutes. Resting it against the table, he evened out his breath and looked up at Peter. “We get burner phones, but for now they’re for emergencies only. I know that’s not what you want to hear-”
“No, no, it’s fine,” Peter interrupted. He exhaled loudly and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll take what I can get. Considering that two days ago you were dead, this is… well, I can’t complain.”
Peter stared off into the night, absently spinning the cue between his hands. “I still remember getting that phone call. Jones and Diana had just been joking about you, how you would do anything to get out of the van. When I saw the London area code, I thought maybe you’d gotten into trouble again, but I had no idea… I-” he squeezed his eyes shut. “I hadn’t realized how much I missed you and then you were gone.”
Neal swallowed and looked down at his hands in his lap. Those first few days were a blur to him now. But clearly, others would never forget.
“I’m sorry,” Neal replied quietly.
Peter glanced back and smiled shakily. “It’s not your fault. You did what you had to do to stay safe-to keep all of us safe. That’s a decision I don’t envy you having to make. It… it was just hard.” He took a deep breath. “You never expect the last time you see someone to be… the last time.”
Neal closed his eyes. That was a feeling he was familiar with. For days when he was laid up in the hospital all he could think about were those last moments-walking, running, dancing-and the people he’d left behind. It had seemed wrong that his last words to Peter had been so… trivial. If he had known, if he had called him just once after he left…
But he hadn't. He'd been so focused on moving on with his new life, on making sure he could stay on the straight and narrow, that he hadn't allowed himself to look back. Not even to pick up the phone. He'd just wanted some time to himself, to get his feet under him, and enjoy his freedom without constantly being second guessed.
Maybe if they had worked things out that last year, instead of quietly ignoring everything, he might not have felt that way. But he’d wanted Peter to be proud of him, and for that, he’d needed to prove himself, and that took time. Time he never got.
He opened his eyes to find Peter staring down at him, his eyes tinged red and his face crestfallen.
Without a word, Peter crossed the distance between them and leaned over, wrapping his arms around Neal, hugging him tight. “It’s been too long,” he whispered, choking up.
Tears trailed down his cheeks as Neal reached up and hugged him back. “I know.”
*~*~*~*
Neal stared morosely out the small airplane window as they sat in the hanger. He was so close. Just a few miles away, Peter was going about his day, grumbling about paperwork and looking on enviously as Jones and Diana went out into the field. And here he was, stuck inside a small government jet, unable to go anywhere even if he tried.
For obvious reasons, they hadn’t deplaned once they’d landed at Teterboro airport. Only seven hours ago they’d left London, but already it felt like a lifetime. As if he’d crossed an invisible line, where Neal Caffrey ceased to exist and John Cameron was born. His old life was officially over.
He watched as Erin, the US Marshal assigned to them, talked with the customs agent outside. Three more US Marshals could be seen standing around the perimeter of the hangar, although unnoticeable to the untrained eye. The last time he'd returned to the States under guard, he'd been shot and handcuffed. There were no handcuffs this time, but he still couldn't run for it, and there was no ‘get out of jail free’ card waiting for him.
Sara was nose deep in her law textbook, as she had been for the last four hours of the flight and the past three months while he had been in rehab. Neal didn't blame her. He wasn't a fan of long flights and trapped spaces unless he had something to occupy himself.
He hadn't had this much time to himself since the weeks he'd spent in the hospital on his back. Ever since the accident, every hour of his life had been scripted-from the nurses rotating him every two hours to the strict schedule of rehab. There had been hours of physical and occupational therapy, gym time, psychologist and doctors appointments, and general instructional classes. Even in his allotted free time, he'd been expected to participate in group activities.
There had been little time to just breathe.
Neal didn't like having all the attention focused on him all the time. There were times to flirt and charm, and times to blend in and slink into the shadows. But for the past four months, he couldn't run, couldn't hide, even if he wanted to. Everyone, from the security detail to the US Marshals, was there because of him. In prison, he had been only one of many, and with the anklet, he had the privacy of his home.
It wasn’t just the attention, though, it was the simple fact that everything they did was for him. Neal was used to fending for himself, to doing whatever needed to be done-by himself. He didn't like relying on other people. He liked to be in control, which was why he preferred to work alone (albeit with Mozzie in the background). Rehab had been a startling wake up call, and a lesson in humility.
Neal looked over at the wheelchair-his wheelchair-that was tucked behind the empty seats on the other side of the jet. It was top of the line, sleek and ultra lightweight, but that didn't change the fact that it was the only thing that stood between him and any semblance of independence. It was both a blessing and a curse. And he couldn't do anything about it. He couldn't fix the situation, couldn't switch out a forgery or make the evidence disappear.
He had no choice in it, and that hurt the most, because it had been his decision-his choice to proceed with the Gregory case. He could have walked away earlier, or declined to help Interpol, but he hadn't. Now he and Sara were paying the price.
He still felt guilty, watching as Sara worked to make herself a new life. A law degree gave her an opportunity at a new career, but it wasn't a given. She still had to pass the bar. The US Marshals weren't handing everything to them on a silver platter, they still had to work for it.
She hadn't complained, but that didn't make him feel any better. She had supported him the entire time, even while she worked through her own injuries, and that had left little time for her.
He wasn't so lucky though, having no degree to fall back on, and no marketable skills beyond artistic talent, and that wouldn't get him very far. And he'd been discouraged from bringing any attention to himself, so selling any art was out of the question.
Neal was just thankful that he was getting a high school diploma out of it. The Marshals had reluctantly agreed that it would be better for him to have a diploma, rather than a GED. And as it so happened, they had his records from his first stint in WitSec, where he had left just two months shy of graduating with straight A’s and a respectable SAT score.
Going back to school didn't quite scare him, but he realized that this was the turning point of his life. He had to rebuild-recreate-Neal Caffrey for the final time. If it weren't for the chair, he could easily see this as another alias, a life he’d once offered to Sara (minus the riches, of course). But it wasn't that simple. His life was not the fairytale that everyone thought he lived. Not then and certainly not now.
He'd already learned how hard his life would be, and it wasn't pretty.
A part of him didn't want to accept it, but that only led to madness, and Neal was stronger than that. There had been a lot of ups and downs in his checkered past, and now, well... he wasn't sure whether this was an up or a down. He was alive. Sara was alive. There was no anklet on his leg (not that he would feel it if there was), and 'felon' wasn't tacked on to his name.
But the past four months had been the hardest of his life, and he wondered how he could look forward to a life in a wheelchair. The con man with the silver tongue and million dollar smile was gone. He could no longer slip into a crowded room and work his magic, then waltz out unnoticed. The psychologist at the rehab center had tried to get him to see that his life wasn’t over, but he couldn’t explain to her that it really was-Neal Caffrey was gone. In more ways than one.
It wasn't that he missed his old life of lying and thieving and constantly looking over his shoulder. But for a man who’d lived his life alone, it was hard to need help to do even the simplest of things. Or deal with all the effort and planning that was part of his life now.
He knew it would get easier with time. In the past three months he’d gone from completely helpless and unable to sit up on his own, to taking care of himself. Glancing over at Sara, he smiled softly, watching the intense concentration on her face. Her stubbornness, love, and support were really what got him through. She had been there every step of the way, and while parts had been embarrassing and ugly, she’d taken it all in stride.
Without warning, she slammed her book shut, startling him. She rolled her neck and stretched her arms for a moment, before looking up at him.
"Had enough?" he asked lightly.
She let out a huff. "If I never have to hear about the rule against perpetuities ever again, I'll be a happy woman."
Neal raised an eyebrow, honestly amused at seeing this side of her, and wondered what she had been like as a child. She'd grown into a tenacious and ambitious woman, but the little girl in her had to have been feisty. It was a frightening yet adorable mental image.
Sara shrugged, then stood up and walked over to sit across from him. "I'm just tired. It's one thing to spend hours tracking someone down, but at least you get some satisfaction when you catch the guy. I feel like I'm going nowhere, just reading the same thing over and over-for months on end.”
He smirked. “Peter chased me for three years. I’m not sure you can compete.”
Rolling her eyes, she popped her neck, and he winced as he heard a crack. She stretched her arms above her head and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. “Yeah, well, I haven't studied this much in years. I’m just glad I don’t have to go back to school too. That’s all you.” She opened her eyes and they twinkled in obvious amusement. “Excited?”
“I like school. There’s always something new to learn.”
“Of course, how could I forget that Neal Caffrey is an expert in practically everything?” she remarked dryly. Cocking her head to the side, she looked at him pointedly. “How many degrees do you have?”
He beamed. “Three MBAs and two doctorates.”
She shook her head and laughed. “Only you…” Settling back in her seat, she smiled, and for a moment Neal forgot they were on their way to a new life.
It was easy to slip back into that familiar place, bantering back and forth, especially now that they were out of the hospital. Soon, it would just be the two of them again. He knew it wouldn’t go back to normal, though. It couldn’t.
“You ready for this?”
Her eyes shined with a love and resolve that still surprised him most days, and the corners of her mouth stretched wide in a warm smile. There was no hesitation in her voice as she replied, “You jump, I jump.”
Neal's heart swelled, and he knew in that instant that everything would be okay. He didn't regret his choice to move to London, and he wouldn't dwell on what could have been. Neal Caffrey might have died, but in name only. He'd never backed down from a challenge before, and he wasn't going to give up now. Not when he still had a chance at a good life. It might not be what they had imagined, or be a glamorous life in the clouds, but it would be theirs.
And they were in it together.
Chapter Eight