Composition in Black and White (part two) 4/
3/
The entire office was still walking on broken glass. Especially around Peter.Peter had barely left his office since his return mid yesterday and the rest of the office could feel the hostility the man was radiating for their suspect. Diana had never seen Peter so focused on getting someone for what they’d done. Even with Adler it hadn’t been, well, this personal.
Ruiz at the very least had enough compassion to keep Volkov’s threat against Elizabeth to the agents who had been behind the glass while Peter was interrogating the other man. There were seven people in the entire White Collar division that knew Nikolai Volkov had constructed the entire thing to teach Peter a lesson, and if Peter had been determined to prove the whole thing before - it was nothing to how he was now.
There was nothing Hughes or she could do to stop him, and so they’d simply helped where they were needed and kept their own level heads, working through the processes to finalize Volkov’s charges before his arraignment. The worst part was confirming Volkov’s motive; his wife, Salina, had disappeared right after the man had gone to prison six years ago. There was no record of their split because there was no split. Not on paper, Salina hadn’t divorced Volkov, instead she chose to simply disappear. The woman was a ghost, but she seemed to have made quite an impression in her wake.
But while the man’s motive was the worst part, the impossible feat about processing Volkov was that this whole thing had been his end game. Everything they found was in all likelihood, exactly what the old man wanted them to find. This had been his revenge, and he had taken it out on Peter through Neal.
But as Diana had left the bureau an hour ago, Nikolai Volkov was being charged with kidnapping, assault and battery and attempted murder and the DA didn’t see any reason why Volkov was going to escape with anything less than the fullest brunt of the Justice System bearing down on him. But that didn’t seem to be enough for Peter.
Peter was trying to figure out what he could have done to stop it, and that was a question Diana knew there was no answer.
There never would be.
All the same, Neal’s security detail would continue until Volkov was put away and Neal woke up.
So here she was, relieving both June and Agent Fenley at just after four in the afternoon.
They had started to reduce the sedative Neal was on that morning, and he had been conscious briefly twice since his initial awakening that morning with Elizaebeth not nothing longer than a few moments of lost lucidity. All the same it had everyone relieved to hear. As soothing as the knowledge was that Neal was alive, that they had him back, the fact that he was still unconscious, even if it was at the doing of the hospital had been enough to keep them all in the same state of anxiety that had been going on since he disappeared.
Diana was sitting next to his bed, idly turning the pages on the book of poetry June had left behind when Doctor Regent was making his rounds. She rose to her feet as the old man walked in.
“Ah, Agent Berrigan, back again I see,” he said with a smile as he picked up Neal’s chart.
“I hear you have your man in custody.”
“We do,” she said, watching him carefully. He must have felt her gaze on him because he looked up to meet her gaze.
“How’s he doing?”
“He’s beginning to respond a little better now, so it wont be long. He’s been awake twice since two o’clock, so I expect he’ll come around again quite soon.” Regent sighed and then dropped the chart to rest by his side. He fixed Diana with a hard look.
“All the same, I can’t recommend you try and interrogate him if he does. Your friend has been under a lot of stress, Agent Berrigan. His body has been put through a lot, and while we’re fixing his physical maladies, I’m afraid we have the easy job. The man who wakes up isn’t going to be the man you remember. He’s been through a lot. He’s going to need a friend more than he’s going to need an investigator. You can’t expect too much from him.”
“I understand Doctor. We just want him back, that’s all.” She said and it was almost a little unsettling how she felt the truth of her own words.
“Yes, you certainly are a pressing bunch,” Regent said wryly. “With your help, he’ll be back on his feet in no time. Before then, you’ll have to leave him to his own pace. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other patients to attend to.”
“Thank you, Doctor Regent,” Diana said, watching the man as he crossed the room. He paused in the doorway.
“As much as you are here to protect him, Agent, I am here to make sure he can still be protected. I understand you have a job to do, and your friend may provide valuable insight. But I really must press, when he does wake up, don’t stress him. If you do, I don’t care who you are; I’ll have you removed from the room. You can surveil from the hallway.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Diana said, remaining where she was until the man disappeared down the hallway and out of her sight. Authoritative bastard. Though, she had to admit, she kind of liked it. The man knew how to run his ward; that had to be a good sign.
She sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. It was only mid afternoon, but it had been a long few weeks and she needed the coffee. Eyeing Neal she glanced at the door and then back.
She’d be only a few minutes. Stopping at the nurses’ station, she informed the woman behind the desk where she was going and that no one should enter until she was back. It didn’t take long at all before she was though, bad coffee in each hand. She could use the caffeine and she’d long got used to cold coffee. It was foul, but the stuff hospitals and the bureau served was foul hot as well and it was a habit of hers to forget she’d made a cup and by the time she remembered it had gone cold.
Even if the stuff was cold by the time she drank it, it was one trip to the coffee machine she didn’t need to make.
When she got back to the room Neal hadn’t shifted, he was just as still as he had been, a body with a constant beep to remind them that he was still around.
Leaning against the door Diana watched silently for a moment, letting the tension sink out of her shoulders. Christie was around somewhere; three floors down, from memory. She finished at seven on Tuesdays and already the idea of finding her when seven came around and take her back home was palpable. Take her home and slide into bed and hold her close, feel the warmth of her skin and the rise and fall of her chest, curl her fingers in her hair and calm herself. The last few days had been far too hectic and after almost a full day of tension at the office, hunting down leads and chasing down proof - well all she wanted was to balance it out and then start again, and Christie had always been a little bit of a breath of fresh air, a rock, a hard place and a utopia all of her own.
Three hours, Diana decided, walking back into Neal’s room and settling in the chair by his bed.
Three hours and then she’d go home. Mozzie would get there about then, anyway. Neal wouldn’t be alone.
But of course, she never got quite that far.
It was nearly six when the regular beeping echoing from Neal’s monitor sped up and Diana glanced up to see Neal’s hands shifting over his stomach, his fingers twitching and his lips moving silently.
“Neal?” she murmured, standing up and leaning over him, one hand resting over his. The moment she touched him he tensed and she watched as he struggled to open his eyes.
“Come on, Neal,” she called, her heart pounding in her chest as she watched him flounder like a fish on dry land. She had never seen anyone so vulnerable.
“Caffrey, open your eyes for me,” she said, sounding gruff even to her own ears. She’d never had much of a bedside manner.
Neal made a sound in the back of his throat and he struggled to keep his eyelids open, but she finally caught sight of muted blue and a rush of relief ran through her. His gaze was unfocussed and drowsy but he was awake and alive and that was more than they’d had for over a week.
“There you go,” she said, smiling down at him. She reached out and held his hand and Neal made another sound in his throat. He looked confused.
“You’re in the hospital. You got taken. Do you remember that?”
The beep of his heart rate monitor went up and Diana glanced up at it.
“You’re all right.”
Neal didn’t relax. If anything he seemed more panicked. She tried to meet his gaze, but when she did all she saw was confusion.
“Let me get a doctor, Neal, alright? I’ll be right back,” she said carefully, standing up slowly. There must have been something Neal saw as she rose to her feet because the beeping of his heart monitor went up again. In the end, Diana didn’t need to alert anyone in the hallway. Neal’s panic did that all on its own.
Doctor Regent was walking in before Diana could reach the doorway.
“I thought I told you not to panic him, Agent Berrigan,” Regent said stiffly as a pair of nurses outflanked him and moved to the bed.
“He just woke up. I barely had time to tell him where he was before he started to react.”
“He just woke up in a hospital, of course he’s going to react.”
“How are we doing, Mr Caffrey?” one of the nurses was asking as Diana turned around. Neal was staring between the two women on either side and the look on his face was gut wrenching. He was scared and confused and it was written all over his face. That fact was possibly the most alarming. It wasn’t that Neal was scared. It was that he was openly showing it.
Neal made that another sound in his throat and shifted his gaze between the nurses on either side a little quicker, like it was a shake of the head.
“Mr Caffrey, you were brought in a few days ago. You’ve been sedated while you healed. Agent Berrigan will be able to fill in some more details for you if you’re feeling a little confused,” Doctor Regent said, taking up Neal’s chart and moving around the bed towards Neal’s head.
“Now you took a bit of a blow to the head, Mr Caffrey, so I need you to tell me if you feel anything abnormal: confusion, loss of balance, nausea, memory loss. Anything at all, alright?”
Neal looked wildly from the old man to Diana and back. His eyes were wide, his mouth open.
“Wh- “ he gasped, the sound fading out before it could fully realize.
Diana took a step forward.
“He’s trying to say something,” she said and the attendants paused for a moment. Neal looked mollified.
“Wh - “ he tried again and this time they were all listening. Diana wasn’t at all ready for the question that escaped Neal’s mouth, nor the panic and confusion that was written all over his pallid face.
“Who’s Ne-al Caff-rey?” Neal gasped.
***
Peter knew there was something wrong a moment before his phone even rang. There was just a hesitant sense of foreboding tingling in his fingers as he sat up and frowned and before he could blink away the feeling, his cellphone started to buzz on the desk next to him. The damn thing was broken, it wasn’t even on silent.
Peter cautiously glanced at the ID before flipping it open.
Diana.
More importantly: Neal.
“Peter,” Diana murmured, sounding urgent. Peter’s stomach made a drop for his shoes.
“Peter, you need to get down here.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Neal’s woke up again. Properly. We may have a problem.”
“What is it? Is he alright?”
“He’s… You have to see this for yourself.”
“I’m leaving now. I’ll be there in fifteen.” Peter all but snapped his phone in two as he closed it, shoving it in his pocket and checking for his keys in a determined reflex as he started walking around his desk.
He took the stairs two at a time and caught Jones at the bottom. The man still looked like he should be in the hospital himself, but considering the circumstances, Peter understood. Everyone was taking certain liberties the last few days. Besides, the man looked infinitely better than he had when Peter had seen him last, being escorted back downstairs by a very hesitant looking Blake with a box of pending cases to keep the other man from turning up at the bureau again.
“What’s wrong?” Jones asked as Peter walked past him. Peter paused by the doors. He owed Jones the truth as much as he knew. Jones was friends with Neal, too. But he just didn’t have the time.
“Neal’s awake. Something’s wrong.”
“Call me when you find out what!” Jones called after him as Peter pushed his way through the glass doors and pressed for the elevator.
***
Peter hung up and Diana let out the breath she was holding as she closed her own phone. Inside Neal’s room he was curled to one side and apparently once again sleeping.
He looked like Neal. Their Neal. But he was different, even just in the manner of himself. The way he had held himself, the look in his eyes, and he hadn’t recognized her, which only added to the mounting concern she had that this wasn’t as much of a scam as her first instinct had been. But the Neal she knew wouldn’t have scammed her. The Neal she knew was, if she wasn’t too proud to admit it (which she never was) was a little bit scared of her. She liked it that way. After he’d had Alex break into her house all those years ago, she had been wary around him and over the years he had given her reason to be. It had become obvious that there weren’t any lengths he wouldn’t go to in order to get what he wanted, and it all depended on what that was that left any hint as to what the consequences could be.
But this, this was different. This time his disappearance hadn’t been his fault, this time he’d been beaten to an inch of his life and now he was semi-awake after nearly three days in a coma.
And he was claiming his name was George Danvary.
Which meant one of two things, they’d hit him hard enough he thought one of his aliases was his life, or they’d hit him hard enough that he couldn’t remember them and pulling George out of the back of his head had been some defense mechanism.
Either way, the look in his eyes as he’d got more and more agitated by their careful questions was enough to drag her careful relief he was awake back into the mounting fear that something was very, very wrong.
***
Peter watched through the glass as the Doctor sat with Neal, going through what seemed a comprehensive neural test. It was making Peter restless. He’d been at the hospital an hour and a half and in the entire time, he’d not been in the same room as a conscious Neal. The man had been sleeping once again when Peter had arrived, and now that he was awake the room was off bounds to all of them. Doctor Regent had holed up with Neal twenty minutes ago and forced them all to watch through the glass. Peter couldn’t hear a thing, but he could see the expressions both men were pulling. He could see Neal’s uncomfortable shifting; he could see his discomfort, his pain, and his uneasy confusion.
Over the years Neal had left Peter feeling a whole range of emotions that were unfamiliar to him and the uneasiness running through him currently was both familiar and not. Over the years Neal had put himself in so many stupid positions and left Peter fretting and running against the clock to protect him. Once already he’d been forced to accept that he’d failed in that regard, but this feeling was reminiscent of those moments he’d watched Neal when Thompson had shot him. He’d just been through four hours of surgery and was still out cold, but in those moments Peter had felt this completely alien surge of guilt running through him that he hadn’t protected Neal. That it had been his fault, which was a mixture of truth and irrationality he’d had a hard time diffusing. This was similar. While this time it hadn’t been a simple case of being too late to protect a brash idiot from himself, no, this time Neal was here solely because of Peter. He was injured because of something Peter had done while Neal was locked away in maximum security with Kate’s weekly visits as his only real link to the outside world. Peter had done his job, and that job had come back to bite Neal in the ass. Hard.
And Peter’s only glimmer of hope as he watched, was that no matter what they’d done to his friend, the fact was, it could have been Elizabeth, and he didn’t know what terrified him more. The fact it could have been Elizabeth tied up in that storage container, or that Neal might not remember everything they’d been through.
Either way, it all lead back to Peter.
Peter and a man’s bid for revenge, and Neal had paid the price.
Which left them here and now, where Neal was shaking his head at the Doctor and looking mildly petulant as he slumped tiredly against the pillows. He shook his head again and winced and Peter’s guilt flared up again.
Everything Neal was feeling was a message for Peter.
They were messages in mottled purple skin and the worst part, the lack of recognition in familiar vibrant blue eyes.
Peter knew if Neal still knew everything that had happened to him, there was a good chance he wouldn’t be alive. A small part of Peter knew if this situation was any different, Volkov would not have given Neal back to him.
This could not have been their aim.
But inadvertently they had given him something much worse. Neal’s second chance, his hard won, hard worked for second chance had been snatched away from him.
He was left without eight years worth of memories and friends and a hard expression on his doctor’s face as he left Neal’s room, closing the door distinctly behind him.
Inside the room, Neal rolled carefully on his side. Peter tore his gaze away and fixed it on Regent.
“What’s the diagnosis?” Peter asked quietly. Regent sighed and looked at Neal through the glass.
“I’m not certain, I’m waiting on a Specialist to make the final prognosis, but based on Neal’s results, Agent Burke, he’s suffering from Retrograde Amnesia. His procedural and semantic memory had a few inconsistencies but overall seem fine, which is not uncommon with RA. Neal’s condition is mainly restricted to his episodic memory. His life.”
His life.
“How much is missing?”
“Eight years.”
“Eight years?” Peter repeated, looking through the glass at Neal’s back. When he looked back at the doctor the man was frowning and following Peter’s gaze.
“When I asked if he knew what year it was his answer was 2005.”
“2005?” Peter repeated, feeling the information sink in like a lead weight.
2005. In two thousand and five, Peter had been with the Bureau for more than six years. He’d been married to Elizabeth for a little over four. Satchmo was still a puppy and Neal Caffrey was a world renowned fugitive with a flashy streak and according to Neal - a girlfriend on the run.
In two thousand and five they were enemies, Kate was beyond his reach, he was at the top of his game, and about six months away from being thrown in prison for the next four and a half years of his life, before Peter let him out on an electronic leash and at the risk of his entire career.
What a lot had changed in eight years.
Peter swallowed.
“And the issue with his name?” he croaked, eyeing Neal through the glass. He was still curled to his side, sleeping from the looks of it. Though he could have been faking. This Neal didn’t trust any of them, after all.
Regent sighed again and followed Peter’s gaze.
“That I believe isn’t quite what it appears. One of the other agents mentioned he was a conman?”
“Yes.”
“I’m guessing George Danvary was an alias. He wasn’t entirely forth coming, but he made it relatively clear he is more lucid than he appears. His reaction as he woke up is not entirely surprising. Everyone has their own reaction; Neal’s was an instinctual survival mechanism of his. Some patients get hostile. Other’s emotional. We’ve seen grown, bearded, aggressive men break down and cry like children as a way of coping with memory loss. It appears Mr Caffrey’s reaction is to lie. Which, given his circumstances, I’m not surprised.”
“His circumstances?”
“Neal thinks it’s 2005, Agent Burke, tell me what his life was like then.”
“He was - “ Peter stopped. Oh.
“He was being chased by the FBI.”
“And he wakes up and he’s in a hospital with the person next to him being an FBI agent. That would be reason enough to lie through your teeth, would it not?”
“So what do we do from now?”
“Well I think it’s best to give him a little bit of time to accept what’s going on. I’ve explained some of the circumstances, but I think it’s best that someone he knew and trusted eight years ago helps matters a little more personal. Having a familiar face help explain might be best for everyone. Especially given the change in employment.”
Peter nodded.
Mozzie.
He didn’t envy the other man. He didn’t know how he’d be able to explain Neal’s life to him if it had fallen on his shoulders. He’d been looking forward to the moment Neal woke up for the three days he’d been in a coma, but now that he had Peter couldn’t help but wish maybe he’d stayed under just a little bit longer if it meant he’d have woken up the same Neal they knew. If he’d woken up to look at Peter with a little bit of that trust, that little bit of familiarity and not freak out wondering why the hell Burke wasn’t dragging him into the slammer.
That hadn’t been part of the deal.
Things hadn’t been following the rules a lot lately.
Neal had been keeping out of mischief, but that didn’t mean that just because Neal had finally started listening to Peter about going off on his own meant that things didn’t manage to drag Neal off with them anyway.
“There is someone,” Peter said to the loitering doctor. Turning away from the window. He couldn’t look at his partner anymore. Couldn’t stand it.
“Then I suggest calling him in, Agent. There’s a lot to go through, and I think it would be best for Neal if he gets some form of closure soon. The situation isn’t helping matters in the slightest. Knowing why there are so many agents around will be a big help in his recovery. Now if you’ll excuse me, we’re trying to get in contact with a neural specialist to help consult and I need to check in with the nurses.”
Peter nodded and let the man go, watching as the doctor walked up the hall towards the nurse’s station. Peter sighed and cast one quick glance back at Neal. He hadn’t moved.
Peter closed his eyes and drew in a long breath.
Just when there had been some hope it was all going to be fine, the whole floor was swept out from under them.
For the first time since he was a child, Peter felt this creeping feeling swirling around in his stomach and in the back of his brain he heard a tiny voice crying out - this isn’t fair.
He opened his eyes and reached for his phone.
This wasn’t going to be pleasant.
***
Mozzie was furious.
Which was understandable at the very least, but it didn’t help matters in the slightest.
“You mean to tell me, Suit, that Neal’s expedition down the complete incompetency of the FBI protection detail has wiped eight years off his memory?”
Peter sighed. Mozzie was staring at him with an accusing glare just amplified by his glasses. Peter sighed again and braced himself, hands on his hips.
“Neal currently thinks he’s twenty five and claims his name is George Danvary.”
Peter watched as Mozzie’s very quick brain seemed to backtrack eight years and his expression of distrust turned to something a little nostalgic. Peter had thought George Danvary was an alias of Neal’s, but like a lot that Neal had done, he’d never been able to prove the two coexisted, let alone that George had done anything illegal. It had been almost Chinese Whispers about that alias. Someone said something they’d gotten off two other someone’s once removed and by the time Peter had even found the end of the spider web, Steve Tabernackle had shown up and he had a whole other spider to deal with.
“Neal always liked the name George,” Mozzie mused and Peter frowned at him. Mozzie no doubt had just revived memories of everything filed under George Danvary. Peter found himself caught between the relief that at least one person would be able to properly converse with Neal and not have him treat them as a mark or clam up and act up the façade as he had with Diana. The other part of him was both instinctively curious and infinitely wary. Neal was back to being Neal, and he had no recollection of anything that had happened. Prison, Kate, Adler, their friendship; all of it missing, and the Neal that was missing all that information had kept Peter on the run for three years.
“Oh I know, Danvary, Donnelly, Devore - “
“He’s only used Devore with you lot. Is he awake?” Mozzie was wearing the tiniest of smiles and it had Peter nervous.
“He was when I left.”
“Oh good.” Before Peter could say anything else Mozzie was walking towards the door.
***
Despite his impatient annoyance in front of Peter, Mozzie entered Neal’s hospital room with a sense of fear running through him potent and wild and making him jumpy, which in a round about sort of way seemed to make Mozzie more Mozzie. Neal grinned like a megawatt lamp when he rolled over, looking up warily and instead of someone he knew he had to play, he saw someone he recognized. The sight of his friend, a little wan, pale and exhaustedly slow in his movements was still a far sight better for Mozzie than the nightmare it had been of the past few days. Mozzie couldn’t help the little smile that perked his lips.
“I hope you’re here to break me out, Moz, there’s you know who wearing a god knows what in the hallway.”
Mozzie took a moment to revel in the sound of Neal’s voice as he used to hear it, this edge of relentless enthusiasm and insatiable lack of caution. Neal could get away with anything, because he was Neal.
Even when he looked like a faint breeze would knock him over.
“I dealt with him. He’ll be back in about fifteen minutes.” Mozzie shrugged and pottered over to the seat by Neal’s bed. It was infinitely more comfortable now that the object of his attention was awake.
“Plenty of time to disappear then. Do you have a wheelchair in the hallway? Cause I think we’re going to be in need of a getaway vehicle, Moz.” Neal said, warily eyeing the closed door. The blinds were only half closed and Mozzie had no doubts Peter was just out of sight, watching them.
Still, he turned his full attention back to Neal. He still looked a right sight. He looked pasty and unstable but there was this old vibrancy in his eyes that made a pang of longing burst in Mozzie’s chest. This was who they used to be.
But it wasn’t who they were anymore.
And Neal was in no fit state to be moved. No matter how confident they used to be in patching themselves up, this was far beyond them.
He sat on the edge of his seat and made it obvious he was looking Neal up and down.
“Your impairment is duly noted, in fact, so much so I think all escape plans are on hold for the next few days.”
Neal frowned at him, a petulant sort of confusion more than a real frown. It was like the past coming back to haunt him. Neal honestly couldn’t understand why Mozzie was denying him something. That was the boy who had run halfway around the world like a hurricane, leaving a reputation in his wake Mozzie had never imagined when he’d decided that the kid who had managed to con him had to be worth more than Barlow.
That pang of longing was back.
Neal’s frown kept on.
“Moz, you do know who’s in the hallway, don’t you? That’s Burke. As in FBI Special Agent Burke.”
“I’m well aware of who was in the hallway ten minutes ago.”
“Well what are we going to do about it? I’m good enough to travel. You still have all your stuff at April, right? We can set up there, and move again in a few days.” Neal said, restlessly trying to sit up properly and making a sad effort of it. He wasn’t entirely coordinated and Mozzie wasn’t sure if that had anything to do with his meds or his injuries or the bump on his head that had thrown everything upside down, or a combination of them all. What was obvious was that helping Neal escape, no matter how tempting was a bad, bad idea.
“Neal, I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but you need to stay here,” Mozzie said carefully, standing up and trying to push Neal back as horizontal as his bed would allow. If anything Neal resisted even more.
“Mozzie, Peter Burke isn’t going to keep off throwing me in jail just because I keep wailing at the nurses and saying my name is George. And why am I even in here under Caffrey? Why is Burke even here? What the hell happened in the last eight years? What aren’t you telling me?”
Mozzie was still not even sure about that, even before Neal decided to wake up and make everything upside down by thinking he was still in his mid twenties and infallible. And it was down to him to explain it. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. He tried again.
“You underwent a multitude of unfortunate circumstances, none of which I am able or willing to repeat in such a public setting.”
That was probably worse. He should have just said it. You work for the FBI.
Neal scowled and fell back against his pillows. His face was pale and Mozzie knew then perhaps they’d pushed it a little too far.
“Keep your secrets, Rainman, you have to tell me when we get out of here,” Neal said, eyeing Mozzie carefully.
Mozzie took a deep breath in.
“Time heals what reason cannot; be patient, patient. I’ll break you out when you’re ready.”
“I’m ready now.”
“You are not, you wouldn’t be able to stand if you tried, invalid. I on the other hand, find no issue. Get some sleep, Neal.”
“It’s your fault if the Feds whisk me off in the night, Mozz. If I have to break out of prison I’m using your account to fund it,” Neal called as Mozzie cast him one last glance and pottered from the room.
Just as he thought, Burke was waiting just out of sight.
He was wearing an expression that Mozzie could only translate as ‘Well?’
“You were right, Suit. We may have a problem,” he murmured. Despite everything, this might be the opportunity of a lifetime; Neal couldn’t remember any of Peter’s tutorage and was in the prime of his career, but as easy as that could make the offer of a Nazi loot and a getaway plane far easier than it had in the last two years - at the same time, it didn’t feel right at all.
While watching the Suit panic could have its merits, Mozzie was just as anxious on the inside as Peter was openly showing as they both glanced back at Neal’s room.
The kid couldn’t remember eight years of his life.
And it was a big eight years, a lot had happened. A lot had changed.
And they were going to have to relive it with him, whether he remembered it eventually or not.
There were things that even eight years later, couldn’t be washed away so easily.
Mozzie’s heart sank a little deeper.
They were in trouble.
***
Mozzie didn’t have time to revisit Neal before Regent returned with a trio of nurses following behind and a determined appointment with Neal and a CT scan that effectively took up the rest of their visiting hours and the nurses’ good faith.
Peter waited with Mozzie, just down the hall and out of sight as Neal’s bed was wheeled out of the room and towards the elevators before he bid the smaller man goodbye. Right at that moment, given the stress of everything he really needed to see Elizabeth, and given the state of his voicemail inbox as he bid Mozzie goodbye and went back to his car, Elizabeth was anxious to see him as well.
Peter took the shortest route home he could and let himself inside. El was waiting for him
at the dining table. She stood up, ringing her hands quietly.
“Jones called me,” she said quietly as he dumped his coat on the rack and walked towards her.
“He said something had happened at the hospital. How is he?”
“He’s awake,” Peter said with a heavy sigh. El’s nervous wringing of her hands didn’t stop.
“Properly this time.”
“That’s good, right?”
“He has amnesia. He’s lost eight years of memories.”
Her expression weakened and she let out a sound, covering her mouth with a hand.
“Do they know why?” El asked and Peter sighed sinking down into the chair next to her. She sat down right after him and reached out to take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“It could be a whole range of things. It could have been the accident. It could have been a combination of the accident and another blow to the head. Doctor Regent seems to think he was hit at least once more.”
Peter sighed and looked up at his wife.
El squeezed his hand again.
“Is there any chance he’ll remember?” she asked quietly.
Peter leant forward and leant against the table, maintaining his hold on El’s hand. He stared at their interwoven fingers for a moment before back up into El’s startling blue eyes.
“They don’t know. He seems strong, but he thinks that it’s 2005, El, he thinks he’s never been to prison and that I’m chasing him and that - “
Peter married a very smart woman.
“He thinks Kate’s still alive,” she said simply and Peter felt the weight on his shoulders crash down. He slumped.
“He doesn’t know any of it, and one of us is going to have to tell him.”
El gripped his hand tighter and stared at him, her eyes wide and unwavering.
“He needs to know, Peter. If you tell him the truth, he’ll understand. But you have to tell him.”
“I know,” Peter said, closing his eyes for a moment.
“You’re a good man, Peter Burke. It’ll cause more harm in the long term than if you tell him now.”
“It doesn’t help though.”
“You feel guilty?”
“It’s my fault Volkov came after him.”
“It’s not your fault, Peter,” she spoke fiercely and her hand in his was warm and trusting and Peter held on for a moment. She didn’t know it could have been her and Peter couldn’t find it in himself to tell her. He just couldn’t. She was too precious and even the idea of this being her… he couldn’t stand it. He held her hand a little firmer and just lost himself in her desperately large blue eyes.
El smiled softly and with her free hand she reached out to press it against the side of his face still mottled with bruises he no longer really felt. She held it there, fragile and warm.
“It’s that man’s fault and he’s back where he belongs where he can’t hurt us anymore.”
Peter nodded, not trusting himself to open his mouth to say anything else.
Unfortunately his phone took that moment to buzz in his pocket. He tried to ignore it but El was already leaning back. Pulling her hand away from his face and for a moment Peter felt bereft.
“You should answer that, sweetie. It could be important,” she said eyeing his pocket.
Peter nodded and fumbled in his jacket for the phone.
His concern spiked in an instant as Diana’s number flashed onscreen.
Realistically Peter should have known to keep himself on his toes. He should have pressed Mozzie for everything that he’d told the younger man. Should have thought it through properly. Should have known that without that explanation Neal needed immediately he wasn’t going to stay still, he wasn’t going to behave. Not when he had no idea of the circumstances of his waking up. He didn’t understand what had happened in the gap he couldn’t remember, and therefore all his hesitancy about the FBI and Peter were based on old merits and with those sorts of merits… it was only really a matter of time before it happened. Without that vital explanation, Neal wasn’t going to stick around if he could help it, and despite three days under sedation, cracked ribs and a recent operation for a torn spleen - Neal Caffrey was, apparently, still very capable of disappearing.
This time, even without the help of Mozzie.
***
next
The entire office was still walking on broken glass. Especially around Peter.Peter had barely left his office since his return mid yesterday and the rest of the office could feel the hostility the man was radiating for their suspect. Diana had never seen Peter so focused on getting someone for what they’d done. Even with Adler it hadn’t been, well, this personal.
Ruiz at the very least had enough compassion to keep Volkov’s threat against Elizabeth to the agents who had been behind the glass while Peter was interrogating the other man. There were seven people in the entire White Collar division that knew Nikolai Volkov had constructed the entire thing to teach Peter a lesson, and if Peter had been determined to prove the whole thing before - it was nothing to how he was now.
There was nothing Hughes or she could do to stop him, and so they’d simply helped where they were needed and kept their own level heads, working through the processes to finalize Volkov’s charges before his arraignment. The worst part was confirming Volkov’s motive; his wife, Salina, had disappeared right after the man had gone to prison six years ago. There was no record of their split because there was no split. Not on paper, Salina hadn’t divorced Volkov, instead she chose to simply disappear. The woman was a ghost, but she seemed to have made quite an impression in her wake.
But while the man’s motive was the worst part, the impossible feat about processing Volkov was that this whole thing had been his end game. Everything they found was in all likelihood, exactly what the old man wanted them to find. This had been his revenge, and he had taken it out on Peter through Neal.
But as Diana had left the bureau an hour ago, Nikolai Volkov was being charged with kidnapping, assault and battery and attempted murder and the DA didn’t see any reason why Volkov was going to escape with anything less than the fullest brunt of the Justice System bearing down on him. But that didn’t seem to be enough for Peter.
Peter was trying to figure out what he could have done to stop it, and that was a question Diana knew there was no answer.
There never would be.
All the same, Neal’s security detail would continue until Volkov was put away and Neal woke up.
So here she was, relieving both June and Agent Fenley at just after four in the afternoon.
They had started to reduce the sedative Neal was on that morning, and he had been conscious briefly twice since his initial awakening that morning with Elizaebeth not nothing longer than a few moments of lost lucidity. All the same it had everyone relieved to hear. As soothing as the knowledge was that Neal was alive, that they had him back, the fact that he was still unconscious, even if it was at the doing of the hospital had been enough to keep them all in the same state of anxiety that had been going on since he disappeared.
Diana was sitting next to his bed, idly turning the pages on the book of poetry June had left behind when Doctor Regent was making his rounds. She rose to her feet as the old man walked in.
“Ah, Agent Berrigan, back again I see,” he said with a smile as he picked up Neal’s chart.
“I hear you have your man in custody.”
“We do,” she said, watching him carefully. He must have felt her gaze on him because he looked up to meet her gaze.
“How’s he doing?”
“He’s beginning to respond a little better now, so it wont be long. He’s been awake twice since two o’clock, so I expect he’ll come around again quite soon.” Regent sighed and then dropped the chart to rest by his side. He fixed Diana with a hard look.
“All the same, I can’t recommend you try and interrogate him if he does. Your friend has been under a lot of stress, Agent Berrigan. His body has been put through a lot, and while we’re fixing his physical maladies, I’m afraid we have the easy job. The man who wakes up isn’t going to be the man you remember. He’s been through a lot. He’s going to need a friend more than he’s going to need an investigator. You can’t expect too much from him.”
“I understand Doctor. We just want him back, that’s all.” She said and it was almost a little unsettling how she felt the truth of her own words.
“Yes, you certainly are a pressing bunch,” Regent said wryly. “With your help, he’ll be back on his feet in no time. Before then, you’ll have to leave him to his own pace. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other patients to attend to.”
“Thank you, Doctor Regent,” Diana said, watching the man as he crossed the room. He paused in the doorway.
“As much as you are here to protect him, Agent, I am here to make sure he can still be protected. I understand you have a job to do, and your friend may provide valuable insight. But I really must press, when he does wake up, don’t stress him. If you do, I don’t care who you are; I’ll have you removed from the room. You can surveil from the hallway.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Diana said, remaining where she was until the man disappeared down the hallway and out of her sight. Authoritative bastard. Though, she had to admit, she kind of liked it. The man knew how to run his ward; that had to be a good sign.
She sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. It was only mid afternoon, but it had been a long few weeks and she needed the coffee. Eyeing Neal she glanced at the door and then back.
She’d be only a few minutes. Stopping at the nurses’ station, she informed the woman behind the desk where she was going and that no one should enter until she was back. It didn’t take long at all before she was though, bad coffee in each hand. She could use the caffeine and she’d long got used to cold coffee. It was foul, but the stuff hospitals and the bureau served was foul hot as well and it was a habit of hers to forget she’d made a cup and by the time she remembered it had gone cold.
Even if the stuff was cold by the time she drank it, it was one trip to the coffee machine she didn’t need to make.
When she got back to the room Neal hadn’t shifted, he was just as still as he had been, a body with a constant beep to remind them that he was still around.
Leaning against the door Diana watched silently for a moment, letting the tension sink out of her shoulders. Christie was around somewhere; three floors down, from memory. She finished at seven on Tuesdays and already the idea of finding her when seven came around and take her back home was palpable. Take her home and slide into bed and hold her close, feel the warmth of her skin and the rise and fall of her chest, curl her fingers in her hair and calm herself. The last few days had been far too hectic and after almost a full day of tension at the office, hunting down leads and chasing down proof - well all she wanted was to balance it out and then start again, and Christie had always been a little bit of a breath of fresh air, a rock, a hard place and a utopia all of her own.
Three hours, Diana decided, walking back into Neal’s room and settling in the chair by his bed.
Three hours and then she’d go home. Mozzie would get there about then, anyway. Neal wouldn’t be alone.
But of course, she never got quite that far.
It was nearly six when the regular beeping echoing from Neal’s monitor sped up and Diana glanced up to see Neal’s hands shifting over his stomach, his fingers twitching and his lips moving silently.
“Neal?” she murmured, standing up and leaning over him, one hand resting over his. The moment she touched him he tensed and she watched as he struggled to open his eyes.
“Come on, Neal,” she called, her heart pounding in her chest as she watched him flounder like a fish on dry land. She had never seen anyone so vulnerable.
“Caffrey, open your eyes for me,” she said, sounding gruff even to her own ears. She’d never had much of a bedside manner.
Neal made a sound in the back of his throat and he struggled to keep his eyelids open, but she finally caught sight of muted blue and a rush of relief ran through her. His gaze was unfocussed and drowsy but he was awake and alive and that was more than they’d had for over a week.
“There you go,” she said, smiling down at him. She reached out and held his hand and Neal made another sound in his throat. He looked confused.
“You’re in the hospital. You got taken. Do you remember that?”
The beep of his heart rate monitor went up and Diana glanced up at it.
“You’re all right.”
Neal didn’t relax. If anything he seemed more panicked. She tried to meet his gaze, but when she did all she saw was confusion.
“Let me get a doctor, Neal, alright? I’ll be right back,” she said carefully, standing up slowly. There must have been something Neal saw as she rose to her feet because the beeping of his heart monitor went up again. In the end, Diana didn’t need to alert anyone in the hallway. Neal’s panic did that all on its own.
Doctor Regent was walking in before Diana could reach the doorway.
“I thought I told you not to panic him, Agent Berrigan,” Regent said stiffly as a pair of nurses outflanked him and moved to the bed.
“He just woke up. I barely had time to tell him where he was before he started to react.”
“He just woke up in a hospital, of course he’s going to react.”
“How are we doing, Mr Caffrey?” one of the nurses was asking as Diana turned around. Neal was staring between the two women on either side and the look on his face was gut wrenching. He was scared and confused and it was written all over his face. That fact was possibly the most alarming. It wasn’t that Neal was scared. It was that he was openly showing it.
Neal made that another sound in his throat and shifted his gaze between the nurses on either side a little quicker, like it was a shake of the head.
“Mr Caffrey, you were brought in a few days ago. You’ve been sedated while you healed. Agent Berrigan will be able to fill in some more details for you if you’re feeling a little confused,” Doctor Regent said, taking up Neal’s chart and moving around the bed towards Neal’s head.
“Now you took a bit of a blow to the head, Mr Caffrey, so I need you to tell me if you feel anything abnormal: confusion, loss of balance, nausea, memory loss. Anything at all, alright?”
Neal looked wildly from the old man to Diana and back. His eyes were wide, his mouth open.
“Wh- “ he gasped, the sound fading out before it could fully realize.
Diana took a step forward.
“He’s trying to say something,” she said and the attendants paused for a moment. Neal looked mollified.
“Wh - “ he tried again and this time they were all listening. Diana wasn’t at all ready for the question that escaped Neal’s mouth, nor the panic and confusion that was written all over his pallid face.
“Who’s Ne-al Caff-rey?” Neal gasped.
***
Peter knew there was something wrong a moment before his phone even rang. There was just a hesitant sense of foreboding tingling in his fingers as he sat up and frowned and before he could blink away the feeling, his cellphone started to buzz on the desk next to him. The damn thing was broken, it wasn’t even on silent.
Peter cautiously glanced at the ID before flipping it open.
Diana.
More importantly: Neal.
“Peter,” Diana murmured, sounding urgent. Peter’s stomach made a drop for his shoes.
“Peter, you need to get down here.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Neal’s woke up again. Properly. We may have a problem.”
“What is it? Is he alright?”
“He’s… You have to see this for yourself.”
“I’m leaving now. I’ll be there in fifteen.” Peter all but snapped his phone in two as he closed it, shoving it in his pocket and checking for his keys in a determined reflex as he started walking around his desk.
He took the stairs two at a time and caught Jones at the bottom. The man still looked like he should be in the hospital himself, but considering the circumstances, Peter understood. Everyone was taking certain liberties the last few days. Besides, the man looked infinitely better than he had when Peter had seen him last, being escorted back downstairs by a very hesitant looking Blake with a box of pending cases to keep the other man from turning up at the bureau again.
“What’s wrong?” Jones asked as Peter walked past him. Peter paused by the doors. He owed Jones the truth as much as he knew. Jones was friends with Neal, too. But he just didn’t have the time.
“Neal’s awake. Something’s wrong.”
“Call me when you find out what!” Jones called after him as Peter pushed his way through the glass doors and pressed for the elevator.
***
Peter hung up and Diana let out the breath she was holding as she closed her own phone. Inside Neal’s room he was curled to one side and apparently once again sleeping.
He looked like Neal. Their Neal. But he was different, even just in the manner of himself. The way he had held himself, the look in his eyes, and he hadn’t recognized her, which only added to the mounting concern she had that this wasn’t as much of a scam as her first instinct had been. But the Neal she knew wouldn’t have scammed her. The Neal she knew was, if she wasn’t too proud to admit it (which she never was) was a little bit scared of her. She liked it that way. After he’d had Alex break into her house all those years ago, she had been wary around him and over the years he had given her reason to be. It had become obvious that there weren’t any lengths he wouldn’t go to in order to get what he wanted, and it all depended on what that was that left any hint as to what the consequences could be.
But this, this was different. This time his disappearance hadn’t been his fault, this time he’d been beaten to an inch of his life and now he was semi-awake after nearly three days in a coma.
And he was claiming his name was George Danvary.
Which meant one of two things, they’d hit him hard enough he thought one of his aliases was his life, or they’d hit him hard enough that he couldn’t remember them and pulling George out of the back of his head had been some defense mechanism.
Either way, the look in his eyes as he’d got more and more agitated by their careful questions was enough to drag her careful relief he was awake back into the mounting fear that something was very, very wrong.
***
Peter watched through the glass as the Doctor sat with Neal, going through what seemed a comprehensive neural test. It was making Peter restless. He’d been at the hospital an hour and a half and in the entire time, he’d not been in the same room as a conscious Neal. The man had been sleeping once again when Peter had arrived, and now that he was awake the room was off bounds to all of them. Doctor Regent had holed up with Neal twenty minutes ago and forced them all to watch through the glass. Peter couldn’t hear a thing, but he could see the expressions both men were pulling. He could see Neal’s uncomfortable shifting; he could see his discomfort, his pain, and his uneasy confusion.
Over the years Neal had left Peter feeling a whole range of emotions that were unfamiliar to him and the uneasiness running through him currently was both familiar and not. Over the years Neal had put himself in so many stupid positions and left Peter fretting and running against the clock to protect him. Once already he’d been forced to accept that he’d failed in that regard, but this feeling was reminiscent of those moments he’d watched Neal when Thompson had shot him. He’d just been through four hours of surgery and was still out cold, but in those moments Peter had felt this completely alien surge of guilt running through him that he hadn’t protected Neal. That it had been his fault, which was a mixture of truth and irrationality he’d had a hard time diffusing. This was similar. While this time it hadn’t been a simple case of being too late to protect a brash idiot from himself, no, this time Neal was here solely because of Peter. He was injured because of something Peter had done while Neal was locked away in maximum security with Kate’s weekly visits as his only real link to the outside world. Peter had done his job, and that job had come back to bite Neal in the ass. Hard.
And Peter’s only glimmer of hope as he watched, was that no matter what they’d done to his friend, the fact was, it could have been Elizabeth, and he didn’t know what terrified him more. The fact it could have been Elizabeth tied up in that storage container, or that Neal might not remember everything they’d been through.
Either way, it all lead back to Peter.
Peter and a man’s bid for revenge, and Neal had paid the price.
Which left them here and now, where Neal was shaking his head at the Doctor and looking mildly petulant as he slumped tiredly against the pillows. He shook his head again and winced and Peter’s guilt flared up again.
Everything Neal was feeling was a message for Peter.
They were messages in mottled purple skin and the worst part, the lack of recognition in familiar vibrant blue eyes.
Peter knew if Neal still knew everything that had happened to him, there was a good chance he wouldn’t be alive. A small part of Peter knew if this situation was any different, Volkov would not have given Neal back to him.
This could not have been their aim.
But inadvertently they had given him something much worse. Neal’s second chance, his hard won, hard worked for second chance had been snatched away from him.
He was left without eight years worth of memories and friends and a hard expression on his doctor’s face as he left Neal’s room, closing the door distinctly behind him.
Inside the room, Neal rolled carefully on his side. Peter tore his gaze away and fixed it on Regent.
“What’s the diagnosis?” Peter asked quietly. Regent sighed and looked at Neal through the glass.
“I’m not certain, I’m waiting on a Specialist to make the final prognosis, but based on Neal’s results, Agent Burke, he’s suffering from Retrograde Amnesia. His procedural and semantic memory had a few inconsistencies but overall seem fine, which is not uncommon with RA. Neal’s condition is mainly restricted to his episodic memory. His life.”
His life.
“How much is missing?”
“Eight years.”
“Eight years?” Peter repeated, looking through the glass at Neal’s back. When he looked back at the doctor the man was frowning and following Peter’s gaze.
“When I asked if he knew what year it was his answer was 2005.”
“2005?” Peter repeated, feeling the information sink in like a lead weight.
2005. In two thousand and five, Peter had been with the Bureau for more than six years. He’d been married to Elizabeth for a little over four. Satchmo was still a puppy and Neal Caffrey was a world renowned fugitive with a flashy streak and according to Neal - a girlfriend on the run.
In two thousand and five they were enemies, Kate was beyond his reach, he was at the top of his game, and about six months away from being thrown in prison for the next four and a half years of his life, before Peter let him out on an electronic leash and at the risk of his entire career.
What a lot had changed in eight years.
Peter swallowed.
“And the issue with his name?” he croaked, eyeing Neal through the glass. He was still curled to his side, sleeping from the looks of it. Though he could have been faking. This Neal didn’t trust any of them, after all.
Regent sighed again and followed Peter’s gaze.
“That I believe isn’t quite what it appears. One of the other agents mentioned he was a conman?”
“Yes.”
“I’m guessing George Danvary was an alias. He wasn’t entirely forth coming, but he made it relatively clear he is more lucid than he appears. His reaction as he woke up is not entirely surprising. Everyone has their own reaction; Neal’s was an instinctual survival mechanism of his. Some patients get hostile. Other’s emotional. We’ve seen grown, bearded, aggressive men break down and cry like children as a way of coping with memory loss. It appears Mr Caffrey’s reaction is to lie. Which, given his circumstances, I’m not surprised.”
“His circumstances?”
“Neal thinks it’s 2005, Agent Burke, tell me what his life was like then.”
“He was - “ Peter stopped. Oh.
“He was being chased by the FBI.”
“And he wakes up and he’s in a hospital with the person next to him being an FBI agent. That would be reason enough to lie through your teeth, would it not?”
“So what do we do from now?”
“Well I think it’s best to give him a little bit of time to accept what’s going on. I’ve explained some of the circumstances, but I think it’s best that someone he knew and trusted eight years ago helps matters a little more personal. Having a familiar face help explain might be best for everyone. Especially given the change in employment.”
Peter nodded.
Mozzie.
He didn’t envy the other man. He didn’t know how he’d be able to explain Neal’s life to him if it had fallen on his shoulders. He’d been looking forward to the moment Neal woke up for the three days he’d been in a coma, but now that he had Peter couldn’t help but wish maybe he’d stayed under just a little bit longer if it meant he’d have woken up the same Neal they knew. If he’d woken up to look at Peter with a little bit of that trust, that little bit of familiarity and not freak out wondering why the hell Burke wasn’t dragging him into the slammer.
That hadn’t been part of the deal.
Things hadn’t been following the rules a lot lately.
Neal had been keeping out of mischief, but that didn’t mean that just because Neal had finally started listening to Peter about going off on his own meant that things didn’t manage to drag Neal off with them anyway.
“There is someone,” Peter said to the loitering doctor. Turning away from the window. He couldn’t look at his partner anymore. Couldn’t stand it.
“Then I suggest calling him in, Agent. There’s a lot to go through, and I think it would be best for Neal if he gets some form of closure soon. The situation isn’t helping matters in the slightest. Knowing why there are so many agents around will be a big help in his recovery. Now if you’ll excuse me, we’re trying to get in contact with a neural specialist to help consult and I need to check in with the nurses.”
Peter nodded and let the man go, watching as the doctor walked up the hall towards the nurse’s station. Peter sighed and cast one quick glance back at Neal. He hadn’t moved.
Peter closed his eyes and drew in a long breath.
Just when there had been some hope it was all going to be fine, the whole floor was swept out from under them.
For the first time since he was a child, Peter felt this creeping feeling swirling around in his stomach and in the back of his brain he heard a tiny voice crying out - this isn’t fair.
He opened his eyes and reached for his phone.
This wasn’t going to be pleasant.
***
Mozzie was furious.
Which was understandable at the very least, but it didn’t help matters in the slightest.
“You mean to tell me, Suit, that Neal’s expedition down the complete incompetency of the FBI protection detail has wiped eight years off his memory?”
Peter sighed. Mozzie was staring at him with an accusing glare just amplified by his glasses. Peter sighed again and braced himself, hands on his hips.
“Neal currently thinks he’s twenty five and claims his name is George Danvary.”
Peter watched as Mozzie’s very quick brain seemed to backtrack eight years and his expression of distrust turned to something a little nostalgic. Peter had thought George Danvary was an alias of Neal’s, but like a lot that Neal had done, he’d never been able to prove the two coexisted, let alone that George had done anything illegal. It had been almost Chinese Whispers about that alias. Someone said something they’d gotten off two other someone’s once removed and by the time Peter had even found the end of the spider web, Steve Tabernackle had shown up and he had a whole other spider to deal with.
“Neal always liked the name George,” Mozzie mused and Peter frowned at him. Mozzie no doubt had just revived memories of everything filed under George Danvary. Peter found himself caught between the relief that at least one person would be able to properly converse with Neal and not have him treat them as a mark or clam up and act up the façade as he had with Diana. The other part of him was both instinctively curious and infinitely wary. Neal was back to being Neal, and he had no recollection of anything that had happened. Prison, Kate, Adler, their friendship; all of it missing, and the Neal that was missing all that information had kept Peter on the run for three years.
“Oh I know, Danvary, Donnelly, Devore - “
“He’s only used Devore with you lot. Is he awake?” Mozzie was wearing the tiniest of smiles and it had Peter nervous.
“He was when I left.”
“Oh good.” Before Peter could say anything else Mozzie was walking towards the door.
***
Despite his impatient annoyance in front of Peter, Mozzie entered Neal’s hospital room with a sense of fear running through him potent and wild and making him jumpy, which in a round about sort of way seemed to make Mozzie more Mozzie. Neal grinned like a megawatt lamp when he rolled over, looking up warily and instead of someone he knew he had to play, he saw someone he recognized. The sight of his friend, a little wan, pale and exhaustedly slow in his movements was still a far sight better for Mozzie than the nightmare it had been of the past few days. Mozzie couldn’t help the little smile that perked his lips.
“I hope you’re here to break me out, Moz, there’s you know who wearing a god knows what in the hallway.”
Mozzie took a moment to revel in the sound of Neal’s voice as he used to hear it, this edge of relentless enthusiasm and insatiable lack of caution. Neal could get away with anything, because he was Neal.
Even when he looked like a faint breeze would knock him over.
“I dealt with him. He’ll be back in about fifteen minutes.” Mozzie shrugged and pottered over to the seat by Neal’s bed. It was infinitely more comfortable now that the object of his attention was awake.
“Plenty of time to disappear then. Do you have a wheelchair in the hallway? Cause I think we’re going to be in need of a getaway vehicle, Moz.” Neal said, warily eyeing the closed door. The blinds were only half closed and Mozzie had no doubts Peter was just out of sight, watching them.
Still, he turned his full attention back to Neal. He still looked a right sight. He looked pasty and unstable but there was this old vibrancy in his eyes that made a pang of longing burst in Mozzie’s chest. This was who they used to be.
But it wasn’t who they were anymore.
And Neal was in no fit state to be moved. No matter how confident they used to be in patching themselves up, this was far beyond them.
He sat on the edge of his seat and made it obvious he was looking Neal up and down.
“Your impairment is duly noted, in fact, so much so I think all escape plans are on hold for the next few days.”
Neal frowned at him, a petulant sort of confusion more than a real frown. It was like the past coming back to haunt him. Neal honestly couldn’t understand why Mozzie was denying him something. That was the boy who had run halfway around the world like a hurricane, leaving a reputation in his wake Mozzie had never imagined when he’d decided that the kid who had managed to con him had to be worth more than Barlow.
That pang of longing was back.
Neal’s frown kept on.
“Moz, you do know who’s in the hallway, don’t you? That’s Burke. As in FBI Special Agent Burke.”
“I’m well aware of who was in the hallway ten minutes ago.”
“Well what are we going to do about it? I’m good enough to travel. You still have all your stuff at April, right? We can set up there, and move again in a few days.” Neal said, restlessly trying to sit up properly and making a sad effort of it. He wasn’t entirely coordinated and Mozzie wasn’t sure if that had anything to do with his meds or his injuries or the bump on his head that had thrown everything upside down, or a combination of them all. What was obvious was that helping Neal escape, no matter how tempting was a bad, bad idea.
“Neal, I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but you need to stay here,” Mozzie said carefully, standing up and trying to push Neal back as horizontal as his bed would allow. If anything Neal resisted even more.
“Mozzie, Peter Burke isn’t going to keep off throwing me in jail just because I keep wailing at the nurses and saying my name is George. And why am I even in here under Caffrey? Why is Burke even here? What the hell happened in the last eight years? What aren’t you telling me?”
Mozzie was still not even sure about that, even before Neal decided to wake up and make everything upside down by thinking he was still in his mid twenties and infallible. And it was down to him to explain it. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. He tried again.
“You underwent a multitude of unfortunate circumstances, none of which I am able or willing to repeat in such a public setting.”
That was probably worse. He should have just said it. You work for the FBI.
Neal scowled and fell back against his pillows. His face was pale and Mozzie knew then perhaps they’d pushed it a little too far.
“Keep your secrets, Rainman, you have to tell me when we get out of here,” Neal said, eyeing Mozzie carefully.
Mozzie took a deep breath in.
“Time heals what reason cannot; be patient, patient. I’ll break you out when you’re ready.”
“I’m ready now.”
“You are not, you wouldn’t be able to stand if you tried, invalid. I on the other hand, find no issue. Get some sleep, Neal.”
“It’s your fault if the Feds whisk me off in the night, Mozz. If I have to break out of prison I’m using your account to fund it,” Neal called as Mozzie cast him one last glance and pottered from the room.
Just as he thought, Burke was waiting just out of sight.
He was wearing an expression that Mozzie could only translate as ‘Well?’
“You were right, Suit. We may have a problem,” he murmured. Despite everything, this might be the opportunity of a lifetime; Neal couldn’t remember any of Peter’s tutorage and was in the prime of his career, but as easy as that could make the offer of a Nazi loot and a getaway plane far easier than it had in the last two years - at the same time, it didn’t feel right at all.
While watching the Suit panic could have its merits, Mozzie was just as anxious on the inside as Peter was openly showing as they both glanced back at Neal’s room.
The kid couldn’t remember eight years of his life.
And it was a big eight years, a lot had happened. A lot had changed.
And they were going to have to relive it with him, whether he remembered it eventually or not.
There were things that even eight years later, couldn’t be washed away so easily.
Mozzie’s heart sank a little deeper.
They were in trouble.
***
Mozzie didn’t have time to revisit Neal before Regent returned with a trio of nurses following behind and a determined appointment with Neal and a CT scan that effectively took up the rest of their visiting hours and the nurses’ good faith.
Peter waited with Mozzie, just down the hall and out of sight as Neal’s bed was wheeled out of the room and towards the elevators before he bid the smaller man goodbye. Right at that moment, given the stress of everything he really needed to see Elizabeth, and given the state of his voicemail inbox as he bid Mozzie goodbye and went back to his car, Elizabeth was anxious to see him as well.
Peter took the shortest route home he could and let himself inside. El was waiting for him
at the dining table. She stood up, ringing her hands quietly.
“Jones called me,” she said quietly as he dumped his coat on the rack and walked towards her.
“He said something had happened at the hospital. How is he?”
“He’s awake,” Peter said with a heavy sigh. El’s nervous wringing of her hands didn’t stop.
“Properly this time.”
“That’s good, right?”
“He has amnesia. He’s lost eight years of memories.”
Her expression weakened and she let out a sound, covering her mouth with a hand.
“Do they know why?” El asked and Peter sighed sinking down into the chair next to her. She sat down right after him and reached out to take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“It could be a whole range of things. It could have been the accident. It could have been a combination of the accident and another blow to the head. Doctor Regent seems to think he was hit at least once more.”
Peter sighed and looked up at his wife.
El squeezed his hand again.
“Is there any chance he’ll remember?” she asked quietly.
Peter leant forward and leant against the table, maintaining his hold on El’s hand. He stared at their interwoven fingers for a moment before back up into El’s startling blue eyes.
“They don’t know. He seems strong, but he thinks that it’s 2005, El, he thinks he’s never been to prison and that I’m chasing him and that - “
Peter married a very smart woman.
“He thinks Kate’s still alive,” she said simply and Peter felt the weight on his shoulders crash down. He slumped.
“He doesn’t know any of it, and one of us is going to have to tell him.”
El gripped his hand tighter and stared at him, her eyes wide and unwavering.
“He needs to know, Peter. If you tell him the truth, he’ll understand. But you have to tell him.”
“I know,” Peter said, closing his eyes for a moment.
“You’re a good man, Peter Burke. It’ll cause more harm in the long term than if you tell him now.”
“It doesn’t help though.”
“You feel guilty?”
“It’s my fault Volkov came after him.”
“It’s not your fault, Peter,” she spoke fiercely and her hand in his was warm and trusting and Peter held on for a moment. She didn’t know it could have been her and Peter couldn’t find it in himself to tell her. He just couldn’t. She was too precious and even the idea of this being her… he couldn’t stand it. He held her hand a little firmer and just lost himself in her desperately large blue eyes.
El smiled softly and with her free hand she reached out to press it against the side of his face still mottled with bruises he no longer really felt. She held it there, fragile and warm.
“It’s that man’s fault and he’s back where he belongs where he can’t hurt us anymore.”
Peter nodded, not trusting himself to open his mouth to say anything else.
Unfortunately his phone took that moment to buzz in his pocket. He tried to ignore it but El was already leaning back. Pulling her hand away from his face and for a moment Peter felt bereft.
“You should answer that, sweetie. It could be important,” she said eyeing his pocket.
Peter nodded and fumbled in his jacket for the phone.
His concern spiked in an instant as Diana’s number flashed onscreen.
Realistically Peter should have known to keep himself on his toes. He should have pressed Mozzie for everything that he’d told the younger man. Should have thought it through properly. Should have known that without that explanation Neal needed immediately he wasn’t going to stay still, he wasn’t going to behave. Not when he had no idea of the circumstances of his waking up. He didn’t understand what had happened in the gap he couldn’t remember, and therefore all his hesitancy about the FBI and Peter were based on old merits and with those sorts of merits… it was only really a matter of time before it happened. Without that vital explanation, Neal wasn’t going to stick around if he could help it, and despite three days under sedation, cracked ribs and a recent operation for a torn spleen - Neal Caffrey was, apparently, still very capable of disappearing.
This time, even without the help of Mozzie.
***
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